In Order to Survive
by Hahukum Konn
Summary: What would you do if you had suddenly been placed in the world of Panem and the Hunger Games? What would you do in order to survive?
1. Chapter 1

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 1

Hi, readers! :) The "bamf" fic genre is one I like to write every now and then. This fic was inspired by **Evan-Almighty**, and has been betaed by **Claratrix LeChatham** and **SkyWriter9**. I also want to thank **CrazyNerdyFangirl** for having a look at the draft of this as well and offering comments.

All mistakes are, however, my own.

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

Evan Williams lived in a small town in the United States of America. He'd read the Hunger Games books many times, and had often wondered how he would fare in a Games environment. This wasn't any sort of morbidity on his part. Rather, a curiosity similar to the sort that killed the cat.

Never in his life did he believe he would have to actually live that way, with the Games hanging over his head as a terrible fate to be avoided. He lived a normal life in all respects: he went to school, hung out with friends, had fun at school dances, and he thought his parents were uncool when he had to go to the shopping mall with them.

One ordinary night, he went to sleep in his bed, and the next morning, woke up on the bare hard ground in the middle of a thick stand of trees.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. No change. He was still in his T-shirt and board shorts, lying on a dirt pathway in a forest. He stood up and looked around, noticing that the forest of mostly pine trees was eerily silent. No tire treads, or discernible indicators that any human, save himself, had ever set foot in the grove.

He yelled, "Aaron? Randy? Not funny, guys. You've had your joke, come on, here!"

Nobody came out from behind a tree, laughing his head off over the great prank they'd pulled. An uneasy feeling seeped into Evan's gut. Could he really be … somewhere else? How had he gotten there? No footprints, just a rocky trail snaking through the trees. He followed it with his eyes until it disappeared in shadow.

"HELLO!" he bellowed. Terror threatened to freeze him in place. He was alone, in the cool morning air, in a forest that didn't sound like a forest ought to. Evan had always been good at keeping himself calm, but even a marble statue would at least have been… worried.

His voice echoed off the trees, but nobody appeared on the trail. Alone, alone, alone. The echo was eaten by the silence, and he felt even more abandoned than before.

_This is not good_, he thought. _Oh, this is bad._

He looked around and noticed, through the thick branches that obscured his view, the sky was overcast with white clouds. The pathway he was on didn't seem to lead anywhere, but he had two choices: stay where he was, or walk somewhere and find civilization. He could panic later. It wouldn't help him to… cry… now.

Fortunately, as it turned out, the path he chose led upward, and after several minutes of sweaty walking, which served as a handy distraction from the situation, he crested an incline and found himself looking down upon undulating hills of nothing but trees ending at a large brown mountain. He saw some white smoke rising into the air a bit closer to him than the mountain, and hope rose within him as he began walking down the winding pathway that would lead in the direction of the white plume. _People… who could help him find his parents. His home._ Though he kept the thought locked in the back of his mind, he missed them.

The town had looked so deceptively close from the view at the top of the hill. But it took Evan an interminable duration, needing several rest stops along the way, to finally get there, his stomach growling with hunger because he'd missed breakfast, and very likely lunch, too. And oh man, did his feet _hurt_. Even though the dirt pathway was solid and mostly free of stones and such, he still wasn't used to walking without his shoes. His feet, which were not his favorite body part in the first place, were covered in a fine layer of dust, battered and scraped from a bad fall when he tripped on a tree root, with a splinter between his toes that he could not remove.

The white plume, he realized, was from a large building he could see as the dirt pathway met a wide road heading towards the town. The slight stink told him it was probably a pulp mill. If that was true, there must probably be a sawmill too.

Shock went through Evan as he wondered. Where on Earth _was_ he?

The pulp mill, and the sawmill which he now saw opposite the pulp mill so they flanked the road, were both _huge_. They sprawled out on either side of him, dwarfing the shops he saw on the paved road ahead. Further ahead, he could see smaller buildings and houses. A fine coating of sawdust, like a light snow, seemed to coat every surface in sight. Evan crouched down and ran a finger through the stuff blowing gently across the road in wonder, still not quite comprehending just where he was.

The noises and clanking of the machines in the two mills were accompanied by the _roar_ of a large odd-looking vehicle that vaguely resembled a bus, which zoomed past him and down the road into the forested area. It _could_ have been a bus, he decided. It just looked… sadder. A little more beaten down. Like it had been thrown together from patchwork to serve a purpose that wasn't intended to help anyone in it.

The paved road went straight through the town, it seemed, but at the first intersection, Evan could see that the secondary roads were all dirt. This first dirt road he saw crossing the paved road seemed to create a perimeter road that went around the town; he wasn't sure how he knew this, but something about it seemed to make sense. He had looked at maps before, after all. Even so, this town seemed a bit dumbed down from the twisting highways and roundabouts of home.

Unfortunately, bad luck caught up with Evan as a tall olive-skinned uniformed man with a gun stepped around the next corner and spotted him. Frozen to the spot, Evan could only swallow nervously as the broad-shouldered man came up and said, "Well, well. And what do _you_ think you're doing, skipping school? Time for an appointment with Head Peacekeeper Rossberg."

Excitement and dread coursed through Evan simultaneously, though dread seemed to be the dominant of the two, as the Peacekeeper roughly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and marched him down the road. He was in District Seven in Panem! But he had just been caught by the worst person to meet, and the odds of talking his way out of this one seemed low.

/\/\

The town square in Seven was almost identical to the mental pictures Evan had had when he read about District Twelve's. A large Justice Building occupied an entire corner of the square, and it looked like the only building that wasn't just a bit worn-down around the edges. It also didn't have a light dusting of sawdust over the walls and roof.

He didn't get to admire much of it, since the Peacekeeper was already marching him right through the doors, Evan's stocking feet leaving light brown marks on the polished white linoleum. He tried to look contrite and respectful, but he couldn't seem to get his face past 'terrified'. These people… these Peacekeepers… no one knew him. No one would vouch for him. And if a boy could be whipped within an inch of his life for a turkey, then how would he fare for truancy?

They stopped before a door with an ornate nameplate on it which read HEAD PEACEKEEPER. The Peacekeeper banged on it, then waited until it opened, revealing a severe-looking, grey-haired older woman. Evan was almost pathetically relieved. He had kept thinking of Romulus Thread, the ominously evil Peacekeeper who had ordered Gale whipped so hard he collapsed.

The man stood at attention, releasing Evan in the process. "Peacekeeper Franklin reporting this truant boy per your orders."

"Excellent! I'm glad to see my orders to clamp down on this sudden epidemic of truant teenagers have not been in vain. Bring him in, Franklin."

Evan felt small and nervous as he was roughly shoved into the large chair opposite the well-dressed Head Peackeeper at her desk. She smirked and said, "Just the person we need to make an example of for all those other truant boys and girls. It's as though you think the effort we put forth in teaching your tiny little brains about the greatness of the Capitol is _nothing_ to you."

She hissed, "And to think the teachers here are too incompetent to maintain order since I promised three days ago to stamp this out!"

In a show of false sympathy, she said, "I think the only concession we will make is that we will use a leather strap instead of a whip. We can't be hurting you before you even have a chance to _work_."

Evan couldn't believe this was happening. He blurted, "In front of everybody? The whole District?"

The Head Peacekeeper scowled at him. "Say that again!"

"I said, in front of—"

She cut him off. "Yes, that's enough. You don't have the usual District Seven accent. I wonder, are you a runaway from somewhere?"

Evan thought fast. "Wait! I grew up in the… the Community Home and… uh, didn't come to school most of the time. That's why I talk funny, miss, uh, ma'am." Laying it on thick, he snivelled a bit, saying, "I'm really sorry, miss. I won't ever do it again!"

"You slum rats disgust me. Your Community Home supervisor's useless and a drunk. Garbage, all of you," she snarled. As though her statements were justified, the Head Peacekeeper nodded to herself. "All the better, then, to make an example of you. We cannot have runaways thinking they can just waltz away from school whenever they feel like it."

She grabbed her telephone and began barking orders. Evan fleetingly thought of trying to escape, but realized if he did that, they might whip him for real. At least a leather strap wouldn't leave permanent marks.

That did little to keep his legs from shaking as Peacekeeper Franklin grabbed him and threw him into a jail cell to await his punishment.

/\/\

Within a few hours, several hundred, if not a couple of thousand, people – mostly the kids in school, Evan thought – were gathered around a post which Evan had been tied to, his shirt removed. He was, unfortunately, a bit on the skinny side so the wind seemed to go right through him on this cloudy day, and he felt terribly small, tied to a post, surrounded by burly teenagers, dirty and tired and absolutely starving.

Rossberg barked in her usual no-nonsense tone, "Today, we have caught one of you truant little hellions who seem to think you can just skitter away from school without paying the consequences. In the spirit of slight leniency, which I hope is not misplaced—" she smirked maliciously and seemed to lock eyes with every person who was in the crowd. A few brave souls met her gaze, but most looked at their feet.

"We will be using the leather strap," she finally announced. "Peacekeeper Franklin! Administer the punishment. Twenty lashes across his back."

_Twenty?_ Oh shit! Evan closed his eyes, wishing he was back in his comfortable bed, trying not to shiver from the fear and the wind. His mother… his parents… he couldn't even cry for them. Lost in the past…

_Snap-CRACK!_

The sudden explosion of pain as the strap hit Evan's back ripped an anguished yell from his throat as he threw his head back. The stinging pain reverberated through his ribcage. Not leaving a mark? He was certain that the lash had broken the skin, fractured all the bones in his back—

Evan lost count somewhere around the fourth blow, and was barely conscious when the last strap was administered. His hands were roughly untied, his shirt was shoved into his hands and a Peacekeeper shoved him into the crowd. In a sneering tone, he said, "Someone take care of this little miscreant!"

Someone's arms grabbed him just before he fainted.

* * *

Author Notes: Thanks for reading. Concrit is always appreciated. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

_Pain._

That was all Evan could think of when he finally woke up. His back felt like a huge sunburn, and he didn't dare turn from his side to lay on it. His legs and feet were still sore and ached as well.

He was in someone's bed. It was small and plain, with just a simple metal frame and headboard. A small window let some light in, showing him the sun was just starting to set. His shirt was still off, but his shorts hadn't been touched, so he carefully swung himself around to sit up, his feet on the floor.

At the same time, a girl about his age appeared in the bedroom doorway. She gasped, startled at his being awake. After she relaxed, she said, "You're awake! We were a little worried when you fainted dead away and had no idea how long you'd be out."

Evan said, "Uh, hey."

She bit her lip and said, "I only convinced Mom and Dad to let you stay because you looked too nice to be a real slum rat. They usually have way greasier hair and wear old clothes. What's your name?"

"Evan. Um, Evan Williams."

She smiled shyly and said, "Caitlin Collins." She said, "Come on. Mom and Dad want to make sure you're okay. Can you walk? We found that splinter in your foot and managed to pull it out; the cut shouldn't be bleeding anymore."

Evan stood up and was happy his legs seemed pretty steady, and noticed the lump in his sock where his right toe was. He took a deep breath, looked around the small room and muttered, "_So_ not how I expected to meet Panem."

Caitlin turned back to him at the door. "Huh?"

"Nothing. Just..." Evan waved his hand vaguely at his head.

"Oh. Okay. Um, you'll want to put your shirt on," Caitlin pointed out.

Evan realized his shirt had been left on the bed with him, and he quickly shrugged into it.

As Caitlin led him down the small hallway to the kitchen, Evan noticed she was wearing a one-piece dress like he'd seen girls wear in movies about the 1930s. Walking into the kitchen, it felt even more like he'd stepped into the past. There was an old potbellied wood-burning stove in one corner, its chimney going up through the ceiling. The floors were hard wood and as far as Evan could tell, the only thing made out of metal had been the frame for the bed he had been lying on.

A small young boy was playing on the floor with some worn letter blocks. It occurred to Evan that the alphabet, like the English, in Panem truly was almost the same as twenty-first century American English.

Caitlin's mother, a waif of a woman just a bit taller than Evan, was busy cooking at the stove, stirring one large pot. She barely even turned around as Evan walked into her kitchen, save to thinly smile at Caitlin, and to cast a blank look at him.

Caitlin's father was sitting at the wooden round table, his arms folded as he regarded Evan sternly. The older man gruffly said, "So. You're awake. Have a seat."

Evan sat down in a chair, carefully not placing his back against it. He saw that the older man had a full head of close-cropped hair that was just beginning to go grey at the temples. His hawk-like, deeply-lined face was the kind of face you saw on a man who'd worked every day of his life and meant to go on working for many more.

"What's your name, kid?"

Evan clasped his hands nervously and replied, "Evan. Uh, Evan Williams."

"I'm Frank. The Missus there is Samantha. You've met my daughter, Caitlin, and playing with the blocks there's my son, Justin."

The little boy, who was even more delicately put together than Caitlin and her mother, looked up and smiled toothily. The gaze of the father softened momentarily, before he turned his gaze back to Evan.

Frank Collins, his arms still crossed, tapped his elbow with his fingers, then sighed. "You're the first underage kid to get beaten here in a couple of years. You at the Community Home in the south end? You don't talk like most of us do, though you seem better-dressed and better-mannered than most of those hell-raisers."

Evan nodded, thinking fast as he spun his story. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. I don't go to school much. I sneak off to … just do stuff. At the Home, I get up really early in the mornings and try to clean up, though."

"Considering your hair looks pretty floppy I'd say you don't get _that_ much of a chance to clean up, though." He sighed, uncrossed his arms and ran his right hand through his hair, then rested it on the table while he dug into his pocket with his left hand for a moment, extracting a small packet of tobacco. "That Mrs. Drewson who runs things there's completely useless, but I gather you know that yourself. She's soaked in that cheap gin morning to night."

Samantha put a lid on her pot with a sharp _clack_ and said, "Now, Frank, you know better than to speak ill of a woman like that. Poor dear, lost her son to the Games a decade ago. Ever since the only thing she was able to do – can do, really – is try to ride herd on boys and girls abandoned on the doorstep of that place one step removed from a hellhole. I don't think half are even registered, and the Peacekeepers hardly bother to try and keep order down there."

Frank said, "Say. Where'd you get those clothes?"

Evan couldn't answer.

Frank snorted and said, "Fine, you stole 'em, you stole 'em. Anyway, you look too smart to be goofing off all day from the Community Home, and with the crackdown from the Peacekeepers you ought to actually go to school."

"Maybe I don't want to," said Evan mutinously. To be honest, he didn't. He already knew math and reading that was likely far advanced compared to District Seven's forestry-based curriculum, and school seemed like more than a waste of time in District Seven. _District Seven!_

Caitlin blurted, "You _have_ to, Evan! You weren't in school last week when it all started!"

She brought a chair around to sit near him, and sat down. "Look, we just got that new Head Peacekeeper about three weeks ago. We don't know where she's from, or why they replaced Head Peacekeeper Carson, but we knew things were going to be a lot tougher when a few days ago she barged into the school with practically all of the Peacekeepers in the District, and started checking truancy records. Most times, the teachers don't care if someone shows up or not, but they have to write it down _some_where. She made the Principal call an assembly that day. There's normally about two thousand kids at our school.

"Anyway, there were about two hundred kids away that day, and the new Head Peacekeeper was just _furious_. It wasn't anybody's fault, even. Those kids were absent because of a little flu that went around. But she yelled and screamed about how this was unacceptable and they were going to crack down and start making teachers keep closer track of everybody and fill out little slips and they were going to pick one each day from those slips and..."

Caitlin caught her breath, then continued in a lower voice. "She said they would decide if they wanted to _whip_ someone – anyone, it didn't matter who – who was listed as away from school on the new slips. The next day, in my second class of the day, a Peacekeeper stalked in, grabbed the attendance book from Mrs. Gordon, and made her fill out a bunch of yellow slips right there.

"I don't know why they didn't whip anyone, though. But the next day, all the teachers said they forgot where the slips were. Just yesterday, old Mr. Hallstrom, he's the only one who smokes a pipe..." Caitlin giggled a bit. "He looked over his glasses at the Peacekeeper who demanded his slips, and said, 'I must have smoked them by accident.'"

Evan chuckled at the idea, though he had some idea of how bad it could get in a District, knowing what Romulus Thread had done to people in District Twelve.

"That could have been bad, though. The Peacekeeper looked absolutely furious and stomped out of the room. Today, they didn't even bother; the Principal announced the Peacekeepers had all gone on patrol around the District and anybody caught out during school hours would be taken and beaten. I don't think I got any schoolwork done; I was so _terrified..._"

Evan softly said, "And then they caught me."

She nodded. "They caught you. And the Principal announced that we were all to go to the town square because they caught someone! Even the tallest boys turned pale. My friend Jennifer started crying. It was terrible to start, and then they dragged you out and tied you to that pole!"

Catlin put her hand to her mouth and sniffled, then tried to regain her composure. Hastily changing the subject, she said, "Look. The Peacekeepers will have their eyes out for you now, because they've won. They've made their point. You have _no _idea how tense things have been. Did you even hear about _anything_ at all?"

"Honestly, no. I.. uh, kind of stay away from everybody."

Firmly, Caitlin said, "Well, you can't. Not now. Look, today's Friday. We'll be starting again on Monday. _Promise_ me you'll register for school. It's the least you can do to help the rest of us."

Evan gave a defeated sigh. This was different from when the people were just as fictional as the pain. His back still stung. "Okay, yeah. I'll register. What do I have to do?"

Caitlin smiled, and it extended to her wide blue eyes. "That's great! Usually you need your parents, or Mrs. Drewson, but… unless you know where yours are? Because some of the kids... at school…"

She broke off at Evan's expression. His… parents? What had happened to them? Were they in his own time, looking over his empty bed, waiting for him to come home, his mom crying openly, his dad trying to hide his tears?

Or was that time long gone? It seemed more likely… the universe moving on without him, the colors in his school pictures fading, the people at his memorial service leaving, the police coming back one last time to report that they could do nothing. The case being closed. Evan Williams, presumed dead.

And time wouldn't stop. His friends would move on. His parents might have another kid, or might bury themselves in work. His relatives would always avoid the subject at family gatherings, though they would shoot each other little looks… that poor boy. That poor family.

They would grow old, all of them. Advancements in medicine would not halt aging. His parents would retire. His friends would get jobs, start families, have kids of their own… forget about him. Until one day, their oldest child, maybe a guy, like him, would flip through their old yearbooks, finding Evan's picture in the back. And they'd say, "He was my friend. But they never found him."

Years later, centuries later, a millennium… maybe more…

"Dead," he whispered. "My parents are dead."

He shook himself. At Caitlin's appalled look, he felt as though he had to try and reassure her. "Mrs. Drewson never told me how I got put in the Community Home. Nobody's ever come to claim me. So far as I know they might as well be dead. But they won't come back for me. I'm sure of that, by now. Without even meeting them… I miss them. I-I _want_ parents."

He broke off, having trouble with the lie. He wished he could convince himself. Maybe, in time, he would be able to. But he _did _miss his parents. He had never realized just how much it meant, having a dad to get angry at, a mother to bother him about what happened at school…

"I'm sorry," whispered Caitlin, her eyes wide with pity. Strange that she should pity him. But, then again, in District Seven, his condition was pitiable. An orphan. Homeless. Whipped, defenseless, hungry, dirty, lost, alone.

Frank said, "Well, at least you're better-mannered than many of those kids." There was a suspicious catch in his voice, though, which told Evan he had been moved by Evan's wish for his parents.

Evan wasn't sure what to think about that. But he foresaw a difficult night for himself, wondering how he would eat and sleep.

Samantha Collins seemed to come to a decision. "Evan, you stay here for supper."

"No!" blurted Evan. "You shouldn't have to feed me."

The growling in his stomach wanted to convince him otherwise, but he couldn't get out of his mind how hard peoples' lives were in Panem. Making them give up scarce food for him? It wasn't _right_. These were the people who _deserved_ food. Evan might be skinny, but he was not nearly as bony as Caitlin, or her mother, or Frank Collins, who, despite the work he must do, was remarkably lean. None of them had weight to spare. Not even the little boy.

She pointed her large ladle at him and said, "You'll stay in that chair and eat. You can martyr yourself another day, Evan Williams, but not in this house. And I can hear your stomach from here, for goodness sake."

Caitlin giggled as she moved her chair back to its usual place at the table. She put her hand on his shoulder and said, "Mom's right. I _can_ hear your stomach."

Nervously, Evan smiled and said, "Okay, I'll stay."

"Wise choice," opined Frank. "'Sides, to be perfectly honest that pot of soup'll probably last us a week. We keep a few extra bowls around here anyway for when my cousin comes to visit."

Samantha was ladling soup out into bowls. As she finished, she wiped her hands on a worn cloth and nodded quickly. "Considering Frank's _job_ is to chop wood for peoples' fireplaces 'round here I'd say we're not short for fuel to keep the pot warm all day. It's the _food_. Luckily I had a lot of potatoes this time, so it's thicker than usual.

"Caitlin, don't go making plans to see your friends tomorrow because you'll need to watch Justin when I go to the market for some vegetables. Oh, and help me get him into his chair, would you?"

Justin went into a high chair brought out to keep him level with the table, and he sat next to Samantha, who was opposite Evan. Caitlin sat to Evan's left and her father to Evan's right at the round table. Evan watched carefully to see if there was any ritual before the food was eaten. There was none, so Evan picked up the worn metal spoon and cautiously stirred the soup. It was mostly water, with a scant few potato and carrot slices bobbing in it.

The soup was fairly tasteless, but that didn't stop Evan from ravenously eating it and sighing in relief when he ate his last spoonful. He had mostly tuned out the conversation going around the table while his attention was all on the food, but now he began listening again.

"I was delivering some wood down to the Hendersons the other day and their radio was on, replaying the Victory interview. Did you ever hear such a suave little rat like that Finnick Odair who won a month or so back?"

Caitlin sighed dreamily, her lips curving into a little smile. "But Dad..."

Sourly, her father said, "No buts, Caitlin. Get your head out of the clouds. That cocky little snot is going to be here on the Victory Tour, and if I have to see him smirking while he makes you all swoon, forgetting he killed Jenna as quickly as I've ever chopped a piece of wood—"

"He's right, Caitlin," chimed in her mother. "Looks hide a lot. It's always those Districts that train their children which seem to make most of the winners, anyway. I've no doubt he's one of those."

_The Hunger Games!_

Evan realized the 65th Games must have been just before school started for District Seven, since the books seemed to say they took place around August. If that was so, it was now late September, and he had a year to figure out what to do.

Meanwhile, he wanted to speak up in Finnick's defence, knowing what was going to start happening to him in two years, but even as he opened his mouth, he realized he could not possibly explain how he knew the future history of Panem.

He couldn't even warn Finnick about what was going to happen to him. Couldn't warn Katniss, who would only be a child, couldn't stop her father from working in the mines – and he shouldn't. He _shouldn't_ try to change things. Books and science fiction movies had long ago taught him that such things always backfired.

But, Evan realized, he had to fix his own situation first, and that meant braving the Community Home for real.

* * *

Author Notes: Thanks for reading. Concrit is always appreciated. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

Frank Collins looked at the clock mounted on the wall near the table. It was just past six-thirty, Evan noticed. Frank then drummed his fingers on the wooden table and seemed to come to a decision. "Evan, time to get you back. I got a last minute delivery to make down at the breadmaker's near the south end. Just remembered Rick Foster said he'd be closing up late tonight. I guess I can spare the gas."

Samantha pursed her lips and said, "Too close to the Knot, if you ask me. You sure it'll be safe for the boy this time of night?"

"He can't stay here," said Frank matter-of-factly.

Caitlin looked a little bit disappointed, but brightened up as she said, "I'll see you at school on Monday, Evan. You promised, remember?"

Evan nodded and stood up. He tried to see it from the Collinses' perspective: they couldn't feed or house him, and that was just the way things had to be. He still felt his stomach churn in resentment over being talked about as though he weren't there.

The doorway out of the combined kitchen/dining area led to a covered porch. Mr. Collins, shrugging his coat on, peered at Evan. "They take your shoes away?"

Evan nodded, shivering as the cool night air swirled around him.

"Rotten Peacekeepers, I tell you. Rotten, through and through." He reluctantly picked through a few sets of shoes near the door, selected a pair, and said, "Here. I can part with these. Soles're just about worn out. Need to break in the new pair some more, anyway."

Evan swallowed nervously, carefully accepting the shoes and putting them on. He quietly said, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Mmf. Let's go. You can help me toss the cords of wood into the truck while you're at it. Work up a bit of a sweat doing honest labor."

The one concession the Collinses apparently made to outside illumination was the single electric lamp that feebly illuminated the porch. A truck that looked vaguely like a 1950s version of an SUV, save for the rear side windows, which were just metal, was parked on a dirt driveway that led out to the unpaced road. Around the side of the house, Evan could see a fairly decent-sized lawn, and a little shed poked out from the side of the house. At Evan's look, Frank gruffly said, "I keep all my tools in that shed. We won't be using them. Here, grab some of those bundles I've stacked behind the truck."

Evan saw immediately what the older man was talking about; there was a pile of chopped wood, about five feet high and twenty feet long, stacked neatly into round bundles. He picked one up with both hands, wondering if he would get another splinter, and walked over to the truck, where Mr. Collins had just opened the rear door; a small light inside the truck lit up, showing the bare interior of the rear. "Okay, good. Toss in, let's see, how much did Foster want? Twenty; that was it. Better pay good money for 'em on account of the delivery so late."

Between the two of them, it took only a few moments to load the wood, after which Mr. Collins closed the rear door with a solid _thunk_.

They got in the front of the truck. The old engine caught to life with a throaty roar. After it settled down, Evan could hear an occasional tapping, which got louder as Frank put the truck in gear, turned on the headlights, and drove out onto the road.

The streets were sparsely lit, and the cool night seemed to have driven everybody indoors (though, Evan supposed, wincing as he rested his back against the car seat, what had happened to him might have been a factor, too). He could see that the dirt was packed into ruts where car and truck wheels had worn the grooves. However, Evan had to revise his initial assumption that there was only one main paved road running, he guessed, north to south through the town, because they shortly came to another road which, as it turned out, intersected the north-south road perpendicularly at the town square.

Evan hadn't gotten a good look at it before, being too scared or surprised to take anything in, but he now saw that there was a kind of concrete circle in the middle of the square, maybe twenty or thirty feet across. The post he had been tied to had been taken down. The whole square seemed to be several hundred feet each way – maybe 700 by 700.

Getting his bearings, Evan realized that the Collinses thus lived on the far east side of town, just north of the main east-west road.

Both the main roads were extremely wide; in fact, he thought they could probably handle a good six lanes total. The only road divider he saw, however, was just a single line painted down the center of the road. Evan guessed that District Seven really didn't need to worry that much about traffic.

After driving south for a few more minutes, Frank took a right turn onto another unpaved road and immediately parked the truck. "End of the line," he said. "Let's get the wood delivered and then you're on your own."

Frank instructed Evan to stand by the rear of the truck while he went into the bakery at the street corner to make arrangements. Since they were so close to the road, Evan stepped forward a bit so he could look around. To his left, which was north, the streetlights seemed to go on forever. To his right, he could see they abruptly cut off where the edge of the town must be.

Evan rubbed his arms to try and warm himself against the chilly night air, and was grateful to begin unloading the truck for something to take his mind off the cold. Inside the warm bakery, a man who looked to be in his twenties, and an older man, who must be the guy's father, directed Frank and Evan to put the wood in the back by the large baking ovens. Evan couldn't help but wonder about the curious mix of electric lighting and wood-fuel heating and cooking as he eyed the loaves of bread and other things you could buy in this store.

The whole bakery smelled comforting and happy, though the flour dust in the back made him cough. He wished fervently that the Community Home might not be too much worse… but he couldn't stop thinking about how Katniss had risked a slow death by starvation to keep herself and her sister out of it. He didn't really have the choice of doing the same, did he?

After several trips, they were done. The alternating heat and cold meant that after Evan was finished, standing outside the windows of the bakery, the light shining on him and Frank, he was unable to stop shivering. Frank grimaced slightly and said, "Cold snap's a bit early this year." He sighed and said, "All right, kid, you're close enough to the Knot you should be able to find your way back to the Community Home. We're just on the edge now, anyway."

"All right. G-Goodbye," Evan said, his teeth chattering.

Frank turned away and went into his truck. Evan began walking down the street, hearing the truck start up, then chug away, leaving him feeling just as utterly alone as he had when tied to the post in the District square.

He saw that not far down the main road from where the bakery was, the buildings seemed even more worn-down, and the sawdust that seemed to blow over the entire town seemed to be a bit thicker on the unpaved roads. As he walked, nervously checking from time to time for followers behind him, he finally saw it: a large, foreboding building at the very edge of town. It was a dark, grey wood building, hanging over the perimeter road. South of this, there was nothing of human civilization, just trees and the gently sloping pathway to the mountain which rose into the sky.

He crossed the wide street to get a good look at the building. But before he could find the entrance past the large wooden fence surrounding it, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. His startled yell rang through the neighborhood as he turned around, his back slamming against the fence, sending it flaring with pain as he tried not to cry out again.

Whoever had grabbed him wasn't a Peacekeeper. The person, Evan realized, trying to control his panicky breathing, was a teenage boy like himself. He had his finger to his mouth, shushing Evan. He leaned in close and whispered urgently, "Why are you down here? You're not one of us Knot kids."

Flummoxed, Evan could only stare, wondering what was going on.

As though he'd decided Evan was very stupid, the guy started talking slowly, using lots of hand gestures. "I saw you get out of the truck at the bakery. Then the older guy made you leave and he drove away. You walked here. I followed you because I was curious."

Evan blurted, "Well, yeah. I need to be here, don't I?"

The boy chuckled nastily. "Oh, you _can_ talk normally! That makes it easier. Why did that wood-louse of an old man get rid of you like you were one of the cords of firewood he made you help him with?"

Evan frowned and wanted to change the subject. "Wait. What were _you_ doing at the bakery?"

"None of your business. Okay, you don't wanna talk about the old man. What's your name, then?"

"Evan. Uh, Evan Williams."

The other boy shrugged. "Trevor Duncan. Least, that's what I always remember it bein' ever since I was a kid dropped off here by my mom. C'mon, let's sneak ya inside. The old bat's been on a bender since she came back to the Home. Doesn't like seein' a whipping normally, and you gettin' strapped out there was just too much for her."

Trevor grabbed Evan's shoulder briefly and beckoned him to come to the entrance gate. Trevor jumped up, grabbed the top, and quickly heaved himself over. Evan looked uneasily up at the gate, which was as tall as the fence, which must be a good eight feet high.

The gate opening from the inside allayed his concerns. Trevor muttered, "Drewson's got a coupla lackeys here. They suck up to her and keep the outside gate locked up. Anyway, welcome to your new home."

Evan stood on the concrete walkway and tried to see what he could in the night. Some of the windows showed flickering lights which could be candles, though they only added to the collective eeriness of the home. The building itself was a squat, rectangular four-storey edifice with about twenty feet of grass all around it. The boys went up the four worn wooden steps to the main entrance door, and Trevor cautiously tried the doorknob. When it turned easily, Trevor hissed, "Yes!"

The doors themselves were solid wood with no windows in them. A single electric light feebly lit the entry foyer, which seemed a bit brighter when Trevor quietly closed the door, letting the knob catch with a _click_. The foyer opened into a long hallway as well as a staircase going up to what Evan assumed was the second floor, since they would be on the ground floor.

"C'mon. I know where Drewson keeps the records. She won't even know you're a newbie once we get you registered here. Good thing even the idiots are quiet tonight. Normally it's a bit noisier here until people start sleeping around nine or ten. S'only seven-thirty or so, if I 'member the clock on the baker's wall."

In the light, he could see Trevor was bony, at least three inches shorter than Evan, with a mop of untidy black hair and dark brown eyes. His skin, like many of the other people Evan vaguely remembered seeing, was pale white. He wore a ragged white T-shirt and faded black jeans. His shoes, like Evan's, had a couple of holes in them.

Trevor led Evan to the first door on the left in the hallway, which had a faded COMMUNITY HOME COORDINATOR nameplate on it. He muttered, "If you keep going you end up in the back. Nothin' to see for now."

Evan couldn't see exactly what Trevor did when he pulled something out of his pocket and jiggled it in the lock, but the door opened as smoothly as though Trevor had had the legitimate key to the room.

Once inside the room, Trevor re-locked the door, went to the side window and yanked down the drape. He said, "You! Newbie! Hit the switch on the wall."

Evan fumbled for the light switch in the near-total darkness, thankful that it seemed to be designed the same way as he was used to. The _clunk_ of the switch accompanied the harsh bare white bulb turning on, illuminating the room. Evan looked around while Trevor swung into action. The room was bare, with hard-wood flooring like the hallway outside. A filing cabinet was in each corner nearest the window, but they seemed to be covered with dust, except for where several bottles haphazardly sat on top of them. Some bookshelves had been placed in the room opposite the desk, but aside from what seemed to be disorganized papers and files, the shelves were mostly full of bottles, some full, some empty.

Trevor had been rummaging through the worn-looking wooden desk drawers as though he, not this Mrs. Drewson, actually ran the place. Even the desk, Evan saw, had some bottles on it. Quickly, he produced two forms, one which already had typewriting on it, and one which was blank.

Evan began to notice the whole room seemed to have a vague stink of alcohol in it.

Trevor rearranged the bottles, then reached for the beat-up manual typewriter, set it in front of the rickety chair which he then pulled out and sat at, and said, "Hey. Grab the other chair and come here."

Evan saw there were two more wooden chairs on the other side of the desk, and pulled one around so he could watch over Trevor's shoulder. Trevor shoved the already-filled-out form at him and said, "Here. Look off my sheet if you need... I dunno, ideas."

Evan read the top of the form, which had the words "COMMUNITY HOME RECORD OF INTAKE" across the top. He saw it was indeed _Trevor's_ old intake form, and cast a glance at the other boy, who was intently concentrating on lining the form up in the typewriter.

He saw quickly from the form that Trevor had been five years old in the year "A.P. 156", whatever that meant. Mother's name, Brandy Duncan (birthname Folsom). Father's name, Eric Duncan. Reason for placing child, "Mother was sixteen years old when pregnant; while father and mother are now married, they cannot make enough money to support a five-year-old child."

Some other vital statistics were present, but they weren't really important. Evan said, "Why are you showing me this?"

Trevor shrugged. "I guess I can trust you, Newbie. Let's get your information on the form, though, okay?"

Last name, Williams. No middle name. First name, Evan.

Age: Fourteen. Date of intake, August 1 on A.P. 165. "Can't put you for before this year," said Trevor offhandedly. "But that date should work for us. Her kid's birthday was the same day. She always starts ranting and raving at dawn, then gets just falling-down drunk. Worse than usual, anyway."

Evan shook his head silently when asked about parents. Trevor shrugged, unconcerned, as he tapped out "Not Known". As an aside, he said, "If you say the word I'll let the air outta that guy's tires. Last time we had a teenager come here was last year. There was this girl who was pregnant. Her parents just made her come in, and walked off without sayin' goodbye."

He snorted. "Guess they figured waiting till her kid was three wasn't good enough for 'em. Drewson made an exception for the baby after it was born and put the two of 'em downstairs in the basement. The boiler's down there, so the kid at least stays warm.

"Anyway, Reason for Placement. I'm guessing 'cold-hearted woodlouse' wouldn't be a good reason to record on the paper."

A chuckle escaped Evans's lips before he realized the seriousness of his situation. He muttered, "Just put Not Known."

The rest of the form was filled in without further comment, and at the end, Trevor grabbed his old form back. "All of us take out tesserae here. You'd be an idiot not to, considering the District government barely gives us enough as it is. Hell, I've forged half the signatures on the Home's food requisition forms 'cause the old drunk forgets so much."

Even as Trevor spoke, he was already hand-tracing Mrs. Drewson's signature onto the intake document.

"And ta-da, you're now one of us. A kid from the Knot. The lowest of the low. You know what the Peacekeepers' favorite word is for us after they've been here for a while? 'Termite', 'cause we're just pests."

Curious, Evan asked, "Did anyone from here get beaten? You know, like me?"

"Not exactly. I mean, most people here've been knocked around some. Dunno if you remember Andrew, though, from a couple years ago. He was only sixteen and they whipped him for stealing flour off the goods train. Died a couple weeks later 'cause the cuts got infected. We couldn't do nothin' but watch."

Appalled, Evan sat back in his chair, heedless of the twinge his sore back still gave.

"You act like you've never heard of any of this before. How the snow—" Trevor shook his head. "Never mind. You'll learn fast enough. Stick with me and the other brainy ones and maybe we can all survive 'till we're nineteen."

Trevor and Evan got busy putting everything back the way it was before. As Trevor closed and re-locked the door, he said, "I'll teach you how to pick the locks here. I kinda got the hang of it by the time I was seven or eight."

Trevor pointed out a door just off to the right before the back door. He said, "That's the main dining hall. We get two meals a day if we're lucky. Breakfast's always thin oatmeal and supper's always potatoes and bread, plus whatever tessera you're given. You let someone steal your tessera, you're fucked. And listen, keep your head down around here. You won't be happy, but you'll be alive, so long as you don't go against the grain. First thing that happens is the Peacekeepers start bustin' heads here, 'cause Knot kids are the easiest ones to blame."

He gripped Evan's shoulder and squeezed. "C'mon, Newbie. Let's get you squared away somewhere safe tonight."

As it turned out, Evan was put all the way up in the attic after they slowly crept up the flights of stairs, miraculously encountering nobody else. Trevor's assigned room, with some other guys, was just down the stairs. They found a disused cot and set it up quickly. Trevor went to the door, which was ajar to let some light in, which led down the stairs near the back of the building. He hesitated, then he came back to the cot and knelt down. "Listen, I'll come get you before the morning bell. Otherwise you'll be the last for a shower and it'll just be cold water."

Evan blurted, "Why? Why help me?" He found it easy to slip into the role as he looked down morosely, saying in a tone that suggested tears, "I'm just another orphan, Trevor."

Trevor looked away, then stared hard into Evan's eyes and said, "Maybe I just trust you 'cause you don't look as stupid as most of the others, huh?"

Not waiting for an answer, Trevor left. As the door closed, Evan was enveloped in complete darkness.

In this strange and harsh new land, he was truly alone. Alone and afraid, truly scared for his future for the first time in his life. Nobody would support him. Nobody would help him more than the bare minimum they felt they could get away with. Even this Trevor kid, he was sure, would cast him off if it meant saving his hide from the Peacekeepers.

Evan's thoughts turned to his lost family and friends. Uneasily, unwillingly, but inexorably, he found himself saying his final goodbyes in his head. He sniffled, not wanting the tears to fall, but even as he angrily wiped his nose, he felt his eyes prickling with tears. _Oh, fuck it! h_e thought_. Nobody'd care, anyway._

Evan let the tears fall, finally, as he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Author Notes: Thanks go to **Claratrix LeChatham** and **SkyWriter9** for the beta work here, and Clara's assistance in tweaking the District 7 slang. I don't know who to credit for "How the snow" as a swear phrase, but I saw it in a fic with Johanna Mason. If you're the author or you know who to credit please let me know so I can change this.


	4. Chapter 4

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

The rough hand shaking his shoulder brought Evan awake instantly. Disoriented, he wondered why his bed felt different and why it was almost pitch black in his bedroom. He blinked and muttered, "What the... what's wrong, Dad?"

A harsh voice belonging to a teenage boy replied, "Your old man ain't here. C'mon, get up. You need to sneak into the showers before the morning bell."

In sudden sharp realization, Evan gasped as he sat straight up in bed. He looked around, and saw Trevor in the dim light shining through the door into the attic. He swallowed hard, remembering how his first instinct had been to call out for his father. Bitterly, he realized it wasn't a dream, then. He really _was_ stuck in District Seven in Panem.

Not wanting to ruminate on that further, he stood up and shook the thoughts from his head, ready to follow Trevor.

The other boy quietly said, "Grab your shoes. I'll show you where you can hide 'em for now."

Evan grabbed up his shoes and noiselessly (or so he hoped) followed the other teenager down the short flight of stairs from the attic and sneaked into the communal bedroom Trevor shared with some other boys. There was one double bunk bed set against each corner of the room. The one above Trevor's was empty. He whispered, "Shove your shoes way to the back so they're almost in the corner. Then showers."

Evan crouched down and placed his shoes as close to the corner of the room as he could under Trevor's bunk, then stood up, brushing the dust off his knees. His muscles still ached a bit from all the walking he had done, but they felt a bit better. Trevor's hand on his back pushing him gently out of the room didn't hurt too much, either, but he bet he still had some strap marks.

"Okay. At the end of every floor there's a guy's and a girl's bathroom each with two showers, that's it. There's like thirty of us on this floor and only the first few are lucky to get hot water. After this, I ain't gonna wake you up specially anymore; you'll be on your own. Got me?"

Evan nodded as he followed Trevor to the bathroom for guys, which was just across from the stairwell going down to the third floor. Once inside, Evan saw how sparse and institutional it looked: Three sinks with taps, a long mirror above them which was pockmarked and faded with age. Opposite them, some urinals and beside them, one stall for a toilet. At the end of the bathroom were two stalls with showerheads.

Trevor said, "I'm showerin', too. Use the powdered soap. Ain't no towels here, though. Dry yourself off with your shirt; best you can do here."

Without a further word, Trevor disappeared into the shower stall on the right and shut the door, which apparently didn't lock; it began to slowly swing back open. Evan quickly rushed into the stall on the left and tried to close its door. The latch barely held. It was cold in the bathroom, too.

The stall was probably four feet by four feet. A drain was set into the center of the plastic-lined floor, which was cracked with age. There were two taps, one for hot and one for cold water. A cylinder mounted on the wall at eye level read POWDERED SOAP.

Without further ado, Evan tossed his clothes off and hesitantly cranked the hot water tap slightly. A thin drizzle came out, which steadied into a weak stream of water as he opened the tap more. He felt the temperature, and noticed it was not quite hot, but more than lukewarm. Remembering Trevor's warning about the water running out, he quickly washed down, then realized there wasn't any shampoo. Pushing the lever at the bottom of the dispenser let a pile of powdered soap fall into his hands.

The gritty soap didn't help clean his hair very well, or the rest of him, but this would have to do. Evan resolved to find a barber to cut his hair first chance he could get. There was no way he could keep his hair clean in a place like this!

The water was already beginning to cool off, so Evan took a final quick rinse then shut the tap off. Shivering in the cold air wafting around him, he tried to dry himself with his shirt, but realized he'd missed half a dozen spots when he put his clothes on and found they stuck to him.

The final indignity came when Trevor, having finished his own shower, took one look at Evan and laughed. "Ya look like a drowned rat, newbie!"

Evan looked in the mirror, attempting to make his face out in the faded silvery surface. He dragged his fingers through his hair, trying in vain to arrange it in some way that wouldn't make him look completely ridiculous.

Trevor's own hair was shorter, but still lent him a bedraggled appearance when he raked his fingers through his own hair to get it out of his eyes. He gestured and said, "C'mon back to the room."

In quiet tones, Trevor pointed at the top bed above his and said, "This one's yours. Ain't nobody slept here since Andrew died in it two years ago. Listen, I had you sleep upstairs last night 'cause we got a little hazing around here and you didn't look like you were up to it if you got caught. But ya should know Big Jim's gonna know you're new."

"Who is he?"

"Real name's Jim Saxon. Seventeen. Looks more like twenty. Drewson's lackey that mostly runs the place. Takes our tessera oil and uses it to keep the boiler going and things like that. He also likes to take his cut of tessera bread. Feeds the younger kids with some of it and gets his own private army that way, plus it keeps him better-fed. His girlfriends, too."

Nervously, Evan whispered, "What d'you think he'll do?"

Trevor shrugged. "Tell you to give him what he wants or he'll make you."

"Why? I mean, you practically can sneak around without ever seeing him. I could do it too, couldn't I?"

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Look, I already told ya he runs his own little protection racket here. You can get hazed or he beats you up, then throws you outside that gate with only your shorts on. If you survive the night and the Peacekeepers, believe me, you'll give him whatever he wants to let you back in unless Drewson has her brain on that day and finds you at the gate."

Sudden realization hit Evan. "So that's why you were so happy when the front door was still open?"

"Yeah. It meant only the front gate was locked and that Big Jim and a buddy were probably off smokin' cigarettes somewhere. S'also why I closed the drape in the office, so they wouldn't see us inside it while walkin' around outside."

Evan sighed. "Okay. So—"

The harsh loud clanging of a bell throughout the Home brought the other boys in the room out of their slumber. Evan could see they were different heights when they stood, grumbling as they ran their hands through their hair or stretched as they yawned.

They all seemed to be shorter than the ages their faces suggested. The two standing about four feet away from him blinked a few times and looked questioningly at Trevor. He grabbed Evan's shoulder and pulled him into the center of the room. Amid the thumping of feet on the hardwood floors as a hundred or so people, ranging in age from three all the way to eighteen, began their day, Trevor gathered the room's other occupants around.

"Brain Gang, Evan. Evan, Brain Gang. More later; shower time now."

The boys all mumbled their hellos to Evan as they dashed out, eager to get in line for a favored spot.

Evan said, "Where do I get my tesserae?"

"Today's Saturday but you can go to the Justice Building anyway and register. You never had to before, huh?"

Evan shook his head.

"You got a bit more meat on you than most of us, dontcha?" Trevor casually grabbed Evan's shoulder. "Yeah, see, you got a bit of muscle to spare. Few months in the Home'll take care of that." A couple of the teens re-entered the room with disgusted looks on their faces.

They were both blond, but one was taller. They resembled each other greatly. Evan said, "Hey. Are you two brothers?"

The taller one said, "Yeah, I'm Fir Sanders and he's Oak. I'm a year older, but our folks didn't have any room for him either. Anyway, shower's useless. There's already twenty guys waiting and we'll be half an hour before we get any water at all. We're gonna go downstairs. Coming?"

Evan blurted, "Why not just wait 'till after your food?"

Fir chuckled. "You _are_ new, aren't ya? It takes hours for the boiler to get the water back up. Weekends we're working in here or goin' round the Knot, lookin' for handouts. Weekdays we're gonna have to be in school and then soon as we come back, working. You know, making the beds, cleaning the floors, doin' all that stuff nobody else is gonna do."

Oak nodded and grunted. "The girls get all the easy stuff, they get to play games with the little kids and feed 'em and all that. Little bit of cleanin' and laundry, none of the hard stuff. Well, when they ain't cooking, anyway."

Evan said, "But why don't guys cook, too?"

The other three boys all laughed uproariously. Fir put his hand on Evan's shoulder to steady him as a young boy raced past him and nearly unbalanced him on the stairwell. Fir then said, "Trust me. The girls've got plenty to say to us about knowin' how to cook. We stick to what we do, and they stick to what they do. They're just _girls_, anyway."

Finally, they made their way amid the people milling around, doing their morning routines, into the giant dining area. There were three long bench-like tables with uncomfortable-looking seats in parallel rows. At the far end was a long table where harried-looking girls were already setting up stacks of bowls, spoons, and directing two strong-looking boys to deposit the heavy pots they were carrying onto metal boxes behind the long table. Evan noticed that at that height, the pot was at the right level for someone to put a ladle into and pour into someone's bowl.

In the corner near the door by the windows was a wooden grandfather clock with a metal plaque riveted onto one side.

What took Evan's attention away from the clock was a large black scar blooming up the wall on the side opposite the windows pointing out to the rear of the Home. The foursome sat at the far table with their backs to the scar, and curiosity finally won out as he gently nudged Trevor's shoulder, turned around to point at the wall and said, "What's that?"

Trevor looked behind him, eyed the black scar, and replied, "Behind there's the kitchen. Nearly had this place burn down a year before I came, so's the story, anyway."

"And this here place _did_ burn down twenty years ago. They gotta watch those fires in there. Then there's the boiler, too," remarked Fir matter-of-factly.

Appalled, Evan said, "But... well, didn't people _die_?"

Oak shrugged. "Nobody cares. Not us, and not anybody we would've liked."

The boys finished putting out the last pot of oatmeal, then swiftly walked out of the room.

Slowly, more and more people began filtering in, and soon Evan could see people separating themselves roughly by age and apparent status. The center table was full of teenage girls accompanying little children, who all seemed uncomfortably thin and hungry.

The table Evan sat at was accompanied by the remainder of the "Brain Gang" as well as other boys who all seemed to mostly keep to themselves and were roughly in the teens age range, though he reminded himself that he was actually one of the taller and stronger people in the room.

The third table away from the scar had some of the older teenage girls, as well as the tallest and oldest-looking teenage boys. A tall, mean-looking black-haired guy who must be at least Evan's height, if not actually pushing over six feet tall, strode in with the two guys who'd been moving the pots earlier. Trevor nodded briefly and said, "Big Jim. See that scar on his arm? He was at this bench, they say, when the flames started coming through and he hit the wall with his arm when he jumped up in a panic. Never comes over to this side if he can help it."

Sure enough, Evan noticed that one of Big Jim's arms sticking out of his worn black T-shirt was a mottled reddish color, as though he'd stuck it in a fire. The tall boy scowled as he eyed the rest of the room, causing people to avert their eyes when they realized he was looking at them.

The flurry of activity from the girls at the long table began to cease as they lined up, apparently very used to this ritual. Evan realized his stomach was growling and he hoped this food, as little as it might be, would ease his hunger. Something about the eagerness with which the boys and girls looked at the table seemed a little off to Evan, though, even for such a malnourished group of people.

A tall, olive-skinned, almost muscular-looking girl strode out of the kitchen and clapped her hands sharply, causing the room to fall silent instantly. She barked just like a Peacekeeper, as though she were from the District Two her skin seemed to suggest, as she said, "Okay! Shut up and listen. I know why you're all staring at this table. Half of you got sent to bed with no food 'cause there was that mess at the Square and the Peacekeepers blew in here like a logging truck and took half the potatoes.

"But if you get rowdy I'm gonna knock these pots over and you can eat off the floor! So, you at that bench, get up and _don't act up_."

She was pointing to Big Jim's table, and the older teens got up and grudgingly lined up, but Evan could still see some pushing and shoving as people tried to jostle for a better position. Big Jim, of course, went first as he snatched up a bowl and spoon. A girl who looked to be about eight years old seemed resigned to letting the tall boys and girls snatch things off the table in front of her without waiting for her to give the bowls and spoons to them, which seemed to be her designated task.

Next, Big Jim moved to the end where a mousy, skinny girl dunked her ladle deep into the pot and poured out two scoops of a rather unappetizing-looking grey oatmeal. Two girls further to the left had their own pots and were thus dividing up the oatmeal serving task between them.

After what seemed like forever, the older teens were back at their places and were rapidly gobbling up their food. The girl barked, "Okay, you're next. _Move!_"

She was pointing at Evan's table, which meant, he realized with a sinking feeling, that the small children would be the last served. He recalled a phrase he once heard: "It's every man for himself, and the Devil take the hindmost."

Evan swallowed the lump in his throat as he realized the very physical manifestation of that reality in the poorest corner of District Seven in Panem. No wonder Katniss Everdeen had braved four months of near-starvation instead of going to a place like this! He wondered fleetingly whether he himself would have been better off on the streets, though he realized, crushingly, that he would likely be dead in a week, let alone four months.

He carefully avoided looking in anybody's eyes as he shuffled along in line, letting the small eight-year-old hand him a bowl and spoon instead of just grabbing them. The smile on her face made him feel better as he tried to figure out who would be the best to get the oatmeal from. He finally decided on the girl just next to the mousy one, who stuck her ladle in about midway to the pot, and scooped out two portions of the grey stuff.

Back at the table, he placed his bowl down, sat in front of his meal, and spooned up his oatmeal. The taste made him gag and choke. It had water in it, all right, but it was basically warm, barely softened oatmeal that suspiciously tasted like someone had added sawdust, or acorns, or something barely edible. With an effort, he swallowed and forced himself to eat the unappetizing semiliquid.

Evan decided from now on, he would be sure to get oatmeal from the girl, he noticed, who tended to swirl her ladle around the top layer of the oatmeal, which seemed to have more water and less... dreck. Trevor was right: eating this way would barely give him the energy needed to keep alive.

Evan wondered what else he might have to do in order to survive.

* * *

Author Notes: I want to profusely thank **Claratrix LeChatham** for helping create some of the characters you've seen here, as well as to work out the kinks in this chapter. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

The conversations seemed to mostly come from the center table, Evan noticed, as the little children seemed to brighten up as the older girls fed them. This made him smile a little, even as he grudgingly placed his spoon in his now-empty bowl. Even with the appalling taste it hadn't taken long for him to scarf down the oatmeal.

He looked around at the slightly familiar-looking boys who'd been in the bedroom being introduced as the "Brain Gang" before they took off to the showers. He remembered Fir and Oak, but didn't know the names of the others.

A small boy sat directly opposite Evan and after finishing his bowl, sighed and stood up, returning his bowl and spoon to the little girl at the long table at the front.

"Who's the girl?" Evan wondered out loud. He didn't see much point to letting a small girl hand out utensils and such to people who were much bigger, in general.

Fir, who was sitting on Evan's left, said, "Aw, that's just Martha. That head girl who barked at us, that's Eliza. Guess she's the only one who ever really throws her weight around. She's kinda taken a shine to Martha for some reason." He muttered, "Kid sure has it easy, even for a girl."

The small boy, who by this time had returned to his spot, caught the end of Fir's statement and said, "Martha's only been here a little while, and she's only eight anyway. I've been here since I turned three, and I'm _ten_! She just sits there all useless, lettin' Eliza take care of her… though I guess they all sorta do. But I'm already doing a _man_'s work, Trevor says!"

Trevor grinned and says, "Got that right, Jeff. We already got you knowin' which end of a mop to use, don't we?"

As Jeff grinned, Trevor muttered, "Kid loves cleanin' the bathrooms, or as near as we can get 'em to clean anyway. That powdered soap is complete shit."

Jeff seemed about to open his mouth, but Trevor silenced him with a glance as he said, "C'mon, guys. Let's get movin'. Bowls back where they belong for the cleanin'."

The boys, who were all seated in the middle portion of the long table, shuffled up and returned their utensils. Evan smiled at Martha, who beamed at him in return. Perhaps, he thought, Eliza, the severe girl who had seemingly controlled an entire room of people, might be a bit softer toward him if he should be on Martha's good side.

As they mounted the stairs for the trip back up to the room the "Brain Gang" shared, Jeff babbled at Evan, "Hi. My real name's Jeffrey Miller. But they all call me Jeff here. So, are you new? 'Cause I've never seen you around here. Only you look a bit... Snow! Was that you getting strapped yesterday? Did it hurt? Are you gonna have scars? How'd you get caught, anyway?"

Evan stopped on the stairway, trying to figure out which question to answer first. A taciturn-looking boy, who Evan didn't quite recognize, shoved him a bit roughly, growling, "C'mon, _move_, Newbie!"

Evan rushed up the stairs to keep pace with the other boys, and said to the little boy, "Just gimme a sec, okay?"

"Okay. Hey, you don't really sound like the others, anyway. Where did you grow up?"

Evan shrugged. Luckily, they were on the last flight of stairs and shortly re-entered the communal bedroom.

Trevor said, "Okay, we gotta few minutes. Guys, this is Evan. Evan, you already know Fir and Oak, and Jeff there. Y'ain't met Cobie Fox and Peter Watkins yet, and there's Chip Harris."

Cobie was a very red-headed boy, and nearly Trevor's height. Chip was a sulky-looking black-haired boy a bit taller than Jeff. Peter was blond, and perhaps a bit shorter than Fir.

Evan noticed that he was actually the tallest and possibly the strongest of them all, for none were quite as broad through the shoulders as he was, and the boys' tatty clothes all hung loosely from their frames. He had a few inches of height even on Oak, the tallest of the group, who he guessed at around two years his senior.

The harsh ringing of the bell through the Home caused a minor rumble of stampeding feet, and Trevor nodded briskly. "'Kay, let's get movin'. Evan, you go with Jeff and help him with the water bucket. He knocked it over last week 'n nearly got whooped by Big Jim 'cept we managed to blame it on a girl tryin' to get us in trouble. Guys don't hit girls." He paused, then allowed, "Well, maybe Eliza, but she doesn't really count. And she'd sure as hell hit back."

All the boys rushed out of the room, Evan assumed, to do their jobs. Trevor snapped his fingers from just outside the doorway and hissed, "Get your shoes before anyone finds 'em!"

As Trevor rushed off, Evan dived under the bed under which he'd secreted his shoes, retrieved them, and hurriedly got them on. Luckily, unlike the distinctive clothes he still wore, his shoes were solidly District Seven in nature and should go well with any clothes he could "liberate" later to replace the shirt and rather shiny shorts he'd been wearing.

He figured that only Eliza's stern orders and the hunger of the people in the Home that morning prevented anyone from making a scene over him in the dining area.

After exiting the room, Evan went back into the old bathroom and saw Jeff struggling to get a bucket up to the powdered soap dispenser in the shower stall. He said, "Hey, lemme help, okay?"

Jeff grinned widely and held the bucket while Evan pushed the lever, covering the bottom of the bucket with the grainy white soap. He said, "Okay, I'm gonna turn the water on now. Ready?"

"I'm ready!" chirped Jeff.

Evan slowly began opening the hot water tap, letting the water stream feebly into the bucket. He stuck his finger into the water, and it was barely warm enough to deserve the name. He realized now why Fir and Oak had been willing to pass up a shower, if this was what greeted them. Evan resolved from then on to be the first awake even if it meant waking up in sheer darkness. He could barely imagine life in District Seven, period… and without showers, that existence, already grim, would be sweaty, too.

Remembering Jeff's questions, Evan said, "Anyway, you asked a bunch of questions. You know my name and, uh, I'm new. I got dropped off yesterday."

"That's really cool! So do you, like, get in trouble a lot? Have you ever gotten strapped before? How old are you?"

Hemming and hawing, Evan replied, "Nah, my old man never strapped me and I kinda managed to stay clear of Peacekeepers until that day. I'm fourteen."

Jeff's eyes went wide. "Wow. You're _old_!"

Evan stifled a laugh as he turned off the hot water and helped steady the bucket in Jeff's hands. "Here, let me take the bucket. You go find a couple of mops, okay?"

Jeff opened a dingy-looking closet door and began rummaging around inside. Sighing in relief once Jeff was out from underfoot, Evan was able to find the handle for the old metal bucket, setting it on the floor outside the shower stall, near the urinals. Jeff returned shortly with a couple of mops with wooden handles turned nearly grey with age and use. The mop strands themselves were ragged and a faded off-white color.

Jeff took charge, saying, "Evan, you do the showers. I'll start from the door."

Evan glumly plunged his mop into the bucket, stirring the water with it before he pulled it back out to let it plop near the shower drain. As Evan began swirling the mop around, noticing the streaks the half-dissolved soap left on the floor, Jeff's voice echoed through the bathroom. "Did Mrs. Drewson actually meet you? Why did your parents get rid of you?"

An unpleasant feeling twisted Evan's insides as he tried to summon up the thought of his parents turning him out of the house for... well, he couldn't imagine offending against them so badly they'd want him out, forever. He snapped, a little more harshly than he meant, "No, Drewson didn't see me… and my old man just didn't want me around for being a troublemaker." On the spur of the moment, he said, "'Good kids don't get strapped', he told me."

Unfazed, Jeff said, "That's lousy. I never really knew my mom or my dad. Trevor told me, after I turned six, he found out they were killed in an accident with a truck."

"I'm sorry," Evan muttered as he stepped out of one stall and proceeded to mop the other one. It seemed like the mop was better at just pushing grime around than in actually picking it up; that, and the soap streaks he could see Jeff's mop leaving on the bathroom floor, made him wonder why they even bothered with this job.

"Don't worry about it. You guys're the best family I've got. And you can't exactly drop me off at my _old _home when I get annoying."

In disbelief, Evan looked at Jeff, who by now was industriously mopping across the middle part of the bathroom. He finally asked, "How can you be so... just okay with it all, Jeff?"

He shrugged. "Well, I can be like Cobie or I can be like Chip. Personally, Cobie's more fun to be around, so I wanna be like him. And 'sides, I think this place could use a few more people who don't take themselves so seriously."

The two of them finished the mopping. Evan, upon noticing the water remaining was really dirty and a bit oily, said, "Hey. So what else do we have to do, and should I change the water?"

Jeff slapped his forehead. "Oh, Snow! I forgot the scrubbers. We gotta clean the sinks and urinals, too! Here, lemme help you with the water, first."

Evan, having already snatched up the bucket, said hastily, "It's okay, I got it!"

But Jeff, eager to prove his worth, it seemed, had already put his hands on the bucket, jostling it. When Evan tried to steady the bucket, his shifting grip caused the dirty water to splash straight onto his shirt. Evan cried, "Sh... Snow-damnit!"

Jeff quickly backed away, wide-eyed, babbling, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to splash you!"

Evan carefully set the bucket down on the floor and said, "S'okay. You get the scrubbers. I'll take care of this, somehow."

He eyed his ruined T-shirt in disgust, and tried wringing the water out. It still stuck to his chest and stomach, and was pretty obvious as he exited the bathroom. He bumped into Cobie, who was busily pushing a wide broom down the hallway. The red-head eyed Evan, leaned on his broom, and snickered. "Hey, you tryin' to take a shower with clothes on there?"

Evan grimaced and said, "Spilled water on myself from that mop bucket. Look, where do I get clothes around here?"

Cobie grinned a little too widely for Evan's comfort. "Well, I reckon you could ask the girls who're doing laundry. They just came off kitchen duty, so I reckon they'll be ready for something to keep their minds off that gruel. You know where you come in? There's a door just off from the bottom of the staircase. Since the kitchen's for boilin' water, laundry's next to it."

Trevor, rushing by with a large dustpan, clapped Evan on the shoulder and said, "The girls who do the laundry'll be happy to see ya." He smiled a bit too easily, as well.

Evan looked down again at his water-stained shirt, plucked at it moodily, and decided he had to take his newfound friends at their word. So down the stairs he went, marvelling at the frenetic activity now taking place. Everyone was occupied in some form of cleaning, be it using brooms to clean the hardwood floors, mopping the bathrooms, sweeping the stairs, cleaning the walls, and all the other things you had to do to keep a place from falling apart. He noticed one boy, barely Jeff's age, hammering a sconce into place while balanced precariously on a battered wooden box, and wondered if there was anyone who was exempt from the hive of activity.

_Somehow I doubt Big Jim Saxon has to do much of anything,_ thought Evan as he finally found himself on the ground floor. He saw the door he'd missed the previous night, and hesitated at the handle. Finally deciding he had no choice, as his shirt really was disgusting now, he turned the knob.

The screams he heard as he opened the door told him it had been a bad idea to believe Cobie Fox.

* * *

Author Notes: Thanks go to **Claratrix LeChatham** for the beta work! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

The first thing Evan realized, after the screams hit his ears, was that he'd definitely walked into the laundry room, only, with embarrassment, he'd not stopped to think that the girls doing the laundry would be doing _their own _as well!

A door slamming told him one girl had ducked into the kitchen. Too late, he realized Eliza was charging toward him, because the next thing he knew, she had shoved him against the wall next to the door and had one hand around his throat, the other hand slamming the door and effectively cutting off that avenue of escape. Evan glimpsed girls quickly covering themselves, or dressing themselves back up.

Eliza was taller than most of the others, Evan noticed, since the top of her head was at his eye level, or would be, if he wasn't somehow being forced to look into her stormy grey eyes. She snarled, "Just what d'you think you're doing, barging on in here like you think you own the place, huh? Thinkin' you're all that just 'cause you're taller than most? That you can just take whatever the hell you want, no contest?"

Evan croaked, "But I was just gonna get a shirt!"

Eliza squeezed Evan's neck harder as she sweetly said, "Oh! Well then, just come right on in any old time without knockin' and take whatever you like!" Her expression shifted back into a scowl as she leaned in close and said in a low voice, "From what you're wearin', I know you're new here. Maybe this didn't happen where you lived, but around here, boys who walk in on girls are takin' advantage, or mean to. As long as I live and breathe, I won't have it, _you got me_?"

She punctuated that last by sharply shoving Evan's head back against the wall and letting go of his neck, letting him rub it and catch his breath, wincing at the pain in the back of his head. Eliza was _strong_!

"Sorry!" he gasped.

Warily, Eliza eyed him suspiciously. He briefly noticed the other girls in the room were staring in apprehension, distaste, and… fear. Somehow, it was worse than Eliza's fury. Deciding to be on the safe side, Evan trained his eyes on the floor, though he was tempted to look up to reassess the situation.

She snorted, growling, "Are you even doing any _work_, or did you just splash all that water on yourself to get out of it? Go on, get your clothes and be quick about it!"

Evan recognized the mousy girl from the kitchen who was standing near a metal pot full of hot water, with a large board poking out of it. She began slowly stirring the clothes again, and the other girls resumed their work. A short and very skinny brown-haired girl with a snub nose scowled and beckoned him over to a stack of dry clothes and threw a shirt and pants at him. She hissed, "Take these and _get out_, filthy _termite_."

Eliza grabbed the back of Evan's shirt and turned him around. She bellowed, "I think you all here didn't quite hear his apology the first time. So – what's your name?"

"Evan," he mumbled.

She let go of his shirt and clapped his shoulder in false bonhomie. "Evan's his name, girls! So Evan here's gonna show how sorry he is. First, say sorry to all the girls here, huh?"

Evan's face flushed in embarrassment as he stood in the middle of a steamy room, with wet clothes hanging from clotheslines and piles of clothes on tables everywhere he looked. He said loudly, "Um, I'm really sorry I walked in here without knocking. I won't do it again, I promise."

Eliza stood next to him and crossed her arms. Up close, he could see that her skin was definitely more olive than most of the Home's inhabitants, and she projected strength rather than defeat. Evan noticed that in the one-piece sleeveless dress she wore, her arm muscles stood out. Her build seemed stockier than the other girls he had met so far. Fleetingly, he started to wonder if—

She barked, "I don't think that's quite enough, Mister Evan. I've changed my mind about letting you go. You're gonna work next door in the kitchen, boilin' hot water for us every day from now on till I say you're finished!"

The girls smiled at that, and Eliza grinned unpleasantly as she said, "Oh, but you could always say no, Evan." She spread her hands and said, "You could leave. But you'd have to ask yourself if your clothes would ever be safe. Or maybe one of us might just make your life miserable, 'cause we make the food, too."

Damn it! Evan cursed himself, cursed Cobie Fox and cursed Eliza in his mind for being forced to work over a hot stove, being ordered around by girls who had it in for him over an honest mistake.

Before he could answer, the banging at the door abruptly got everyone's attention. Eliza reached over to the door and yanked it open. At seeing the tall Jim Saxon standing in it looking down his nose with a slight sneer, she growled, "We're busy. Go away," and proceeded to slam the door shut.

He stuck his foot out to keep the door from closing as he said, "Seems to me I heard some screamin' in here." He looked around the room and seemed taken aback at seeing Evan there. He pointed and said, "The hell's _he_ doin' in here? Thought this was off-limits to boys until this door's opened up. So lemme in, 'cause the door's open now. I tell you, bound to be givin' us whiplash, Eliza. You gone and changed the rules again?"

Eliza stood stonily, crossing her arms. Evan, having already noticed Eliza was bulkier and taller than the other girls, noticed her attitude was a lot like Jim Saxon's. It was easy to see why both seemed to be leaders here. Evan hesitantly walked nearer to the pair.

She barked, "He ain't invited. And neither are _you_."

She was about to reach up to shove Jim back when he abruptly pointed at Evan and said, "Hey. I remember those clothes you're wearin' now. Those funny shorts! You were the one who got tied to a post and belted!" He looked Evan up and down appraisingly. Evan, in his turn, noticed he was somewhat similar in size and build to Jim, though the older boy seemed to have an aura of confidence that Evan lacked, which added to his stature.

Eliza, through gritted teeth, said, "Shut up and quit jawin', Jim. He's gonna be working for me on account of walkin' in here uninvited. At least he apologized, not like some boys who I gotta give black eyes to." Menacingly, she raised a clenched fist. "Or maybe throw out a window."

Jim blinked so quickly Evan wasn't sure he saw it happen. Jim drawled, "Maybe I want him with me." He looked at Evan and said, "C'mon, newbie. I got some friends who'd sure like to meet you. Can't imagine you'd wanna work for this crazy head bitch. Never known anyone to get her so riled up like you just did."

"Just a whole damn minute! You don't need no more boys thinkin' they can do whatever the hell they want since they got you backin' them." Eliza's face was starting to go red in anger. "No way he's gonna be one of your goons! He's _mine_." She turned to Evan, pointed at him and said through clenched teeth, "You walk out that door, I promise you, you will wish you were dead in a month."

Evan swallowed, trying to weigh his chances. Suddenly, it clicked for him who was the worst. Olive skin – muscular for a girl in District 7 – quick temper – that nailed it! Eliza was the daughter of a Peacekeeper from District Two! Cato and Clove flickered across his mind's eye – the muscular, trained tributes who were just a bit unstable to begin with.

Eliza might not be a Career, not even close, but she was probably as quick to hold and nurse a grudge. She obviously had one against Jim, and only the boy being older, taller and with his own goons seemed to keep him from Eliza's full wrath. Evan knew what grudges from District Two people looked like: snapped necks in displaced rage and a fanatical desire to track down anyone they hated. He remembered how Clove wanted to use her knives on Katniss—

Evan knew who he needed to placate more. Jim Saxon could be dealt with. Eliza would probably make good her threat. He blurted, "I'll stay here!"

The two leaders stood staring at each other, eye to eye, for half a minute. Jim broke the staring contest and shrugged. "Okay, fine, _Eliza_. He's been whipped once already on a girl's orders, he can get whipped again on yours."

"You son of a..." Eliza's fists were clenched at her sides as she took a deep breath and said coldly, "I may hate Peacekeepers as much as you do, but you know _damn well _she'd have you cowerin' in front of her just like anyone else in this snow-forsaken place!"

Jim shrugged again easily, grinned maliciously at Evan and said, "Have fun washin' clothes with the _women_, newbie." He stomped off down the hallway.

Eliza turned to Evan and said, "Go get changed somewhere. Come back and _knock on the door_. I'll put you to work boilin' the water from now on. See how you like it."

Evan escaped the room and rushed down the hall, forgetting that Jim Saxon was in that same hallway until he brushed past the other boy. He barked, "Hey! Where d'you think you're goin'?"

Evan mumbled, "Getting changed."

Big Jim poked him in the shoulder. "You just wrote yourself off back there, newbie. We don't have a very high opinion of the guys who can't pull their weight like a man. You might as well just be a girl, newbie, if all you're good for is girl's work."

Evan gulped.

Jim continued, "Y'know, I coulda managed her if you'd come with me. She's threatened a couple of my people like that before; never came to much. See, numbers do her in. And she's still a girl, after all." He guffawed, "But hey, no skin off my nose if you end up wearin' dresses."

Evan tried to ease down the hallway to the door he saw opposite the one that went into the dining area. Jim called out, "Just don't come crawlin' back to me if my boys get you!"

Evan wasn't sure he wanted to know what constituted "getting" him as he rushed to the unmarked door, shoved it open, rushed inside, and closed it again. A dimly lit hallway turned and he could see stairs going down. _This must be way to the basement_, Evan thought.

Swiftly, he changed clothes, noticing that the thin cotton T-shirt and the rough denim jeans didn't seem to fit very well. He would probably have to get rid of his 21st-century clothes; they were just too distinctive. He didn't need to be any more noticeable than he already was.

He trudged heavily back down the hallway and knocked at the laundry door. The mousy girl answered, and beckoned him in. Once she closed the door, she took him through the door at the far end which led into the kitchen. At both ends of the oblong kitchen Evan could see huge metal stoves with chimneys going up through the roof. Presently a girl was watching over three pots boiling at the end nearest the wall adjoining the hallway. The three pots at the other end, where Evan stood, were currently unattended. Near the ovens were piles of wood that he could throw into the open spaces of the cuboid metal stoves.

The girl coldly said, "I'm Shelby."

"Uh, hi."

"Uh, hi," she mocked. "If it was up to me I'd throw you out of here; we girls have got a hard enough job without louses like you getting themselves caught by Peacekeepers and making us lose half our suppers! Especially the little kids!" She stuck her finger under his nose. "And then coming in here like you think you don't have to worry about girls being undressed!"

What amazed Evan was that this girl who barely came up to his chest, and who seemed as meek as anyone could be, could be powerfully roused by what she saw as a threat to the way things ran.

He tried to defend himself, though. "Look, I never would have—"

Shelby was unimpressed. She crossed her arms and said, "What? You think we haven't seen it all down here? We don't remember what it was like before Eliza started makin' rules that actually helped us? Well, lemme tell you, most of us wish we could forget!"

"I never would have... y'know, taken advantage," he mumbled.

Shelby rolled her eyes. "Watch those pots. When they're boiling, grab them and bring them to me. Take the empty ones, and re-fill them with water from the tap there in the middle, and boil fresh water."

Evan sighed as Shelby left. He looked at the water tap Shelby mentioned and saw that it only gave cold water. There was enough space to put a pot under the tap.

With that, he stood near the stoves and morosely began tossing a couple of pieces of wood into the flames under the oven on the far right. Unfortunately, the pieces of wood he'd thrown in were nearly too big, for the flames sputtered and nearly died.

It was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

Author Notes: Thanks go to **Claratrix LeChatham** for the beta work! Thanks also to **SkyWriter9** for taking a look at this. This is the final version of the chapter, fully betaed.


	7. Chapter 7

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

After some time, the small girl Evan remembered from before – though her name escaped him at the moment – entered the kitchen. She smiled at Evan and said conversationally, "Hi. Who are you?"

"I'm Evan." He noticed the pot on the left was just starting to boil, and made sure all the fires were going underneath the stoves. The heat and mugginess made him happy his new shirt was relatively thin, though the fabric stuck to him in the damp surroundings.

The other girl in the kitchen clomped past them, kicking the door that the little girl had left ajar wide open while holding her pot, protecting her hands with thick pads. Evan let the cooler air of the laundry room rush over him as the girl piped up, saying, "I'm Martha. How come you're here? You're a boy."

Evan shrugged. He didn't know what to say.

Martha sadly mused, "Eliza seemed kind of mad. Is that why you're here?"

"Well, uh, I came here before I was sorta supposed to," Evan mumbled, checking the fires underneath the pots again. "So I'm here now. Between you and me, she's kind of scary."

Martha seemed confused. "But she's nice! Well, I mean, she's always nice to me… and you're nice! Nice people ought to get along, don't you think?"

Evan smiled and thought. If Eliza doted on Martha...

"Well, I think you're nice too. And I promise to let you give me my plates and bowls and spoons and stuff each time I'm in the dining hall."

Martha smiled widely. "Thanks so much. I wish more people would let me help them. I really like to help, you know. So are you going to boil water for us every day now?"

"Looks like it," Evan said. He checked again; the pot on the left was beginning to bubble a bit now. The other two still had only wisps of steam lazily rising from them. The girl who'd left pushed her way back in, bearing two now-empty pots, kicking the door closed. She glanced at them briefly, then went to fill her pots with water.

"Well, at least I'll get to say hi and talk to you, then. Eliza doesn't make me do anything, but I want to do big girl work sometime."

Evan chuckled hollowly. "Don't be in too much of a rush, Martha."

The kitchen door burst back open, thudding against the wall as Eliza barged in. As soon as she saw Martha next to Evan, her expression went from neutral to a scowl and Evan could almost feel ice rushing down his spine.

Martha gasped as she took in Eliza's reaction, clearly worried that the bigger girl would be mad at her. Evan wished he could tell her that it was probably _him_ that Eliza's anger would be directed at.

Coldly, Eliza said, "What were you doing with her?"

Martha loudly blurted, "We were just talking, honestly, Eliza! Please don't be mad. He's nice! Like you!"

"Why did you come in here?" Eliza knelt next to Martha, keenly checking her over for any harm.

"I was bored in the laundry room. Shelby told me to do something else for a bit, so I came in here and saw Evan."

Evan nodded vigorously when Eliza quickly glanced at him for confirmation. She looked into the eyes of the smaller girl and said earnestly, "Martha, you should be staying away from this one until I say it's okay."

Eliza's hard-faced expression, Evan noticed, only seemed to soften near Martha. What was she to Eliza? Could they be sisters?

Eliza turned and barked, "Amber! You see what these two were doing?"

The girl, by now back at her own stoves, turned and said quietly, "They were just talkin'."

Eliza stood up and seemed to reluctantly concede Evan's relative harmlessness. "Martha, if he does or says anything wrong, you come see me." She pointed at Evan and said, "You'll be due for a one-way trip out a window, open or closed, if Martha complains."

Evan gulped nervously.

Martha, confused, said, "But I'm sure Evan wouldn't do anything like that! All we were doing was talking about work! Honest!"

Eliza snorted. "Mmm-hmm. I'll be keeping an eye out to make sure of that." Her voice raised again, she barked, "Amber! You see him so much as look at her wrong, say anything mean, _lay a single hand on her_, you come get me."

Amber turned and nodded, then went back to watching her pots.

Eliza stomped out right after that, letting Evan breathe a sigh of relief. He grabbed his old shirt, which he'd left on a small table, and wiped his face and neck.

Martha said quietly, "Amber doesn't seem too excited. I wish I knew why Eliza thinks you might hurt me."

Evan shrugged. "Dunno, Martha." He noticed again how he towered over the small girl, and he realized that given his height, a girl here would almost _have_ to believe him a threat.

A truck engine rumbled outside, louder than the one he remembered from Catlin's father's vehicle, but Evan put it out of his mind as Martha talked of the school she went to during the week and how she was learning lots from a woman named Mrs. Stratmin. As the pot of water on the left finally began to boil strongly, Evan said, "Wait a sec and back up far away, okay, Martha?"

She moved several feet away, letting Evan grab some pads off the table near the faucet. He carefully grasped the pot's handles with the crude potholders, and smiled at Martha when she opened the door for him. He carefully walked into the laundry room, making sure not to scald himself with the hot water. He considered himself lucky to be reasonably fit for fourteen. The pot had to weigh a good forty pounds, at least.

The girl who'd practically hissed at him earlier saw him, snapped her fingers and said, "Over there, by Shelby. Move!"

The mousy girl had just wrung out a piece of clothing and was clipping it to a clothesline. She yanked the nearly-empty pot off the metal stool it stood on, letting Evan carefully set the fresh pot onto the stool.

He grabbed the empty pot, which had a little water swishing around in it, and was relieved at how light it felt. He looked back to see Shelby already dumping more clothes into it. Other girls were taking dry clothes and folding them up, separating them by function: shirts, dresses, pants, and so on.

Washing and drying clothes for what must be a hundred people must take a lot of work. She looked up and said, "Don't fill that one back up. Between you and Amber we've got enough left for now."

Back in the kitchen, he left the empty pot by the faucet and watched his other two pots, which were beginning to boil a bit more. He eyed the fires underneath them and judged that with the wood he had under them now they would last long enough without needing more.

Judging he could talk to Martha again, who had found a stool and was sitting on it, he was about to start talking when the kitchen door slammed open again. It was a wonder it stayed on its hinges, what with all the banging. Eliza pointed. "You. Evan. Come with me." She turned and said, "Amber – we'll change to supper around four. " To Martha, she extended her hand and said, "C'mon. Twig can watch you for a bit, okay?"

Martha walked out with Evan and Eliza, who guided her to the girl who'd called Evan a termite. Martha turned and smiled at Evan as he and Eliza went to the laundry door. Trevor was surprised at Evan's appearance, but quickly schooled his expression into stolidity as she said, "The truck's outside? Paperwork done?"

Trevor nodded and waved a form. "All we gotta do is unload. Driver said he was delayed on account of the Peacekeepers last night."

"Okay. You two, get the stuff off the truck and into the dining room. I'll unlock it now. Lock it behind you two when you're done unloading. Evan here can help you check the bread and potatoes." Trevor was already out the front door when Eliza casually grabbed Evan's arm. "So we understand each other – don't steal _anything_." Her eyes promised dire consequences if either of them put a toe out of line.

Evan uneasily shrugged out of her grasp and went to help Trevor. Outside the main gate was a truck that was even larger than the one Mr. Collins had. The vague resemblance to 1950s styles was again evident in the big rig's design.

As Evan caught up to Trevor, who was talking to the driver, he saw the boy hand the driver the paper he'd held in his hand earlier, which now bore a signature much like the forged one on his intake paperwork.

Evan struggled under the weight of the potatoes, and marvelled that Trevor was able to stay on his feet as he lugged his own sack of potatoes down the hallway into the dining room. The boys left their bags against the far wall near the doorway into the kitchen.

After several trips, they finished the unloading of the potato sacks, crates marked BREAD and other crates marked OATMEAL. The driver, who had been smoking a cigar to kill time, grunted, stubbed out the butt on the sidewalk, and went around the rear of his truck to lock it up before driving off. The twosome went into the dining room, closed and locked the door, then went to the long tables normally used to serve food.

Trevor asked, "You know how to check for moldy bread?"

"I think you're supposed to look for green spots, right?"

"Yeah. Damn, Eliza didn't leave out the bread knives." Trevor knocked at the kitchen door. Amber opened it, and after a quick exchange of words, she handed him two large serrated knives and slammed the door.

Trevor handed Evan one knife and said, "Just cut off any parts that've got mold in 'em."

With that, the boys began sorting through the loaves that came in the large wooden crates. Evan experimentally tapped a loaf against the table and was not reassured when he heard a solid _thunk_. He wondered if the bread was literally made of wood. Stalling for time, he said, "What about inside the loaves? Shouldn't we be cutting this into slices?"

Trevor shrugged. "We ain't got time. Some girl'll do it at supper. It's finer work, y'know? They just need us for the hard parts."

Evan quickly inspected his loaf, saw no green spots, and placed it a few feet away from him. He grabbed another loaf, saw a fuzzy greenish-white blotch at one end, and promptly sliced off the offending part. It felt a bit like using a hacksaw to saw wood, which did not bode well for dinner later that night. He searched around for somewhere to throw it. Trevor pointed wordlessly at an empty crate behind them.

As they settled into the rhythm of checking the week's bread ration, Evan said, "Isn't this... y'know, _also_ girl work? It's not as if it's all that strenuous, once you get used to it."

Trevor shook his head. "Nah. Big Jim used to make his goons do this, but Eliza found out some of them were takin' some bread for themselves. She knew I was helpin' with the food requisitions and got him to agree to let me do it. She generally ignores most of us unless we're goin' against the grain, but she's got a _special_ spot in her heart for Jim's boys."

Confused, Evan asked, "But how could she make that stick? He's stronger and has almost half a foot of height on her, doesn't he? And why not have her own girls do this?"

"Honestly, I'm not real sure what they worked out. I mean, for all I know she said she'd sleep with him."

Evan stared at Trevor in disbelief. "_What?_"

The other boy turned to look him in the eyes. "You got a brain, you look smart. You don't think that happens here? Why do you think Big Jim's buddies at his table have girls with 'em? They're not exactly in it for the romance."

"Okaaaaaay." Evan resumed his bread check, trying to avoid the mental images that promised to stay with him for the duration of his stay at the Home, and said, "So neither of them trusted each other and that's why you've been doing this job?"

Trevor snapped his fingers. "There ya go."

A moment later he said, "Speakin' of girl work, you never came back from the laundry. What's up with that? Cobie had to help Jeff finish the bathroom."

"Shit, I'm sorry," said Evan. "And speaking of Cobie, I owe him a couple of lumps. I went into the laundry room without knocking first."

Trevor slapped his forehead. "Right. Eliza made that rule a few years ago. We didn't figure you'd forget to _knock_, man."

Evan scowled back. "Well, I _did_ forget. If by 'forget', you mean 'didn't freaking know in the first place'! The way Eliza reacted, you'd have thought I'd been a wanted criminal. She slammed me against the wall and nearly strangled me."

He rubbed his neck and groaned.

Confused, Trevor said, "Why?"

In a low voice, Evan replied, "'Cause the girls were doing their _own_ laundry."

Trevor's jaw dropped. "No way." He sidled up next to Evan and said, "You... see anything?"

Evan flushed in embarrassment as he remembered how he'd made his name mud among the girls who had to do the cleaning and cooking. He mumbled, "Not really. But some of 'em were already undressed."

Trevor whistled. "We always figured they just wanted the best clothes for themselves, searched through the lot of 'em and gave us the worst. Nobody ever expected they'd actually... y'know." He waved his hand vaguely.

"What did you think they did? Change clothes in the bathroom or something?"

"Well, most of us don't… _think_ about it. But I guess it kinda makes sense. Wash your clothes first, get into clean ones, then do everybody else's." Trevor nodded, the mystery solved for him now. Confidentially, he said, "Listen. We can't tell Cobie. He'd go runnin' in there first thing tomorrow and Eliza'd probably poison us all or somethin'."

Evan chuckled. "Did he just discover girls or something?"

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Yeah. That's pretty much it. Anyway, any more bread to check, or are we done?"

The pile of good bread stacked up next to Evan told them they were finished. The boys put the good bread back in the crates they'd come in, and Trevor separated out the one crate with the moldy bread pieces.

"Potatoes!" announced Trevor. He said, "Just toss any of the bad ones into the same box behind us, unless the mold's just at one end. Then just cut off that end and toss it in."

The task of quickly eyeballing potatoes soon fell into a mindless routine, and Evan only spoke up again as they began the task of getting the crates of good bread and sacks of good potatoes stacked up near the doorway to the kitchen.

"So what _do_ we tell Cobie? That Eliza was mad or something?"

Trevor shrugged. "She's not exactly friendly to guys here. Whatever you say, I'm not gonna disagree."

Trevor knocked at the kitchen doorway again and waited for Amber to answer. She took back the knives and nodded quickly when told they were done. She said to Evan, "You're to help us boil the water for supper. Come back at four o'clock."

Evan nodded, after which Amber shut the door in their faces. He turned to Trevor and said, "I better get my tesserae today."

He looked at the grandfather clock and saw that it read 1:30, and a glance at the window confirmed that it was definitely the afternoon. "Do we have time?"

Trevor nodded and grabbed Evan's shoulder. "C'mon. We've gotta go to the town square and go to the Justice Building. Not your favorite place to be, I know. But you'll have to face the louses some time or another."

Evan nodded. "Any chance I can get a haircut or something so they won't recognize me?"

Trevor shrugged. "I guess one of us could sort of hack your hair up, or if you sweet-talked a girl into it – though it looks like you're as good as mud to them now." He chuckled.

"Don't remind me." Evan grimaced. "Let's go, huh?"

/\/\

While they waited, Evan noticed people shambling up and down the sidewalks, dressed in worn and tatty clothes. Several crossed the wide paved road without fear of being hit by a car. Then again, there was hardly any traffic. Half the shops across the street had boarded-up windows. One had a hand-lettered sign which read "MASSAGE PARLOR". Another read, "ADULT BOOKS".

In odd juxtaposition, a young boy sat outside the empty shop in between the two others, holding out a hat for change. Evan saw a woman furtively leave the alleged massage parlor. She stopped when she saw the boy, whose face Evan vaguely recognized, likely from the Home, and briefly tousled his hair while dropping what looked like a dollar bill into his hat. The boy smiled and waved at her as she briskly continued down the street.

The sky was a cold blue, and the fitful wind blew sawdust in swirls down the road. The sun's heat, while welcome, did little to help the goose-bumps on Evan's arms every time the cold air brushed over his exposed arms and face.

Their transportation was a ramshackle old bus that wheezed its way up and down the main road. All they'd had to do was wave and flag the bus down. The brakes had squealed loudly as it shuddered to a slow and awkward stop, which did not inspire confidence in Evan.

When Evan hesitated on the steps, searching his pockets vainly for money, the wizened driver bellowed, "The bus is free, young man, but I stop driving at sundown! Now grab a seat and let me get a move on!"

The boys sat side by side in an empty seat. The interior reminded Evan of a school bus like the ones he'd seen back home, but this bus seemed like it had been built in World War II and seen action in combat.

"Who pays the driver?" he asked Trevor quietly, though it was unlikely anyone would have heard him over the engine's din, even if he had shouted.

"The District does. He's the only one who's willing to come into the Knot, but that's because he's done nothin' but drive this thing for as long as I can remember. You can see they don't need to pay him much. Or pay much for the bus."

As the bus shuddered, vainly accelerating after picking up another passenger opposite the bakery Evan remembered from the previous night, he looked around at the shops, which looked to be in better condition. It seemed that the side street making an intersection at the bakery was probably the dividing line between the better part of town and the poorest part. He mused that even the people of the Seam tried to keep their houses somewhat tidy if they could.

Again, he entertained the ludicrous idea of leaving District Seven and high-tailing it for Twelve. Abruptly, he wondered—

"Hey, Trevor, has a Peacekeeper ever stopped anyone from leaving?"

Trevor stared, then guffawed. "Sure, you could just up and leave, but what's out there?" He waved at the forest surrounding the town. "Well, beyond the footpaths and dirt roads that the woodcutters use, and the train track to the Capitol, there's _nothin'_ out there! The snow's a couple feet thick in winter, and even in summer you'd be bound to be hundreds or thousands of miles away from anywhere else. Freeze, starve, or both! I'll stay here, thanks."

Trevor punched Evan's shoulder briefly and gestured out the front window at the town square coming up. The boys shuffled out of their seats and waited until the driver safely stopped, then got out and made for the Justice Building. Evan considered, again, how the Building seemed to be the only one that looked clean, untouched by the slight haze of sawdust that seemed to settle on everything.

As they got nearer the large forbidding double doors, Evan swallowed nervously and tried to not look like the same boy who'd been the object lesson for all the teenagers in District Seven.

It felt like entering a lion's lair as he and Trevor each pulled a door open.

* * *

Author Notes: Thanks go to **Claratrix LeChatham** for the beta work! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

Inside the Justice Building, Evan looked around with some trepidation as he took in things he hadn't really noticed the last time.

A large chandelier hung down from the high ceiling, and he saw some offices to his left. The elevator was directly ahead, and to his right, he could see a secretary sitting at a desk, balefully eyeing him and Trevor as if hoping for something to do. Evan dimly recalled the last time he'd been dragged into the office on the right, which meant he wasn't that far away from the Head Peacekeeper's office.

A shiver went up his spine as he wondered if she was in her office at that very moment.

Trevor tugged his sleeve, and they walked to the left, ending up at an office with a door that was already ajar. The plate on the door read "TESSERAE AND REAPINGS REGISTRATION". The Peacekeeper inside the room sat at a desk with a small potted plant at one corner. The man had very pale skin (Evan judged he might be a Capitol-born Peacekeeper, then), looked extremely bored, and was tapping keys on the keyboard of the first computer Evan had seen yet in Panem.

The boxy machine looked like it might have been an IBM from the 1980s, and Evan fleetingly wondered if the screen showed greenish-white letters like he'd seen in a couple of videos about old computers. Evan looked at the wall behind the Peacekeeper and noticed a painting of an extremely ornate and outsized Justice Building, which he thought might be the Capitol's version of the one he was in right now.

Trevor and Evan stood in front of the man's desk as the red-haired man glanced at each of them. "Bit of an unusual time for a registration, boys."

His accent was different from Rossberg's, with more of an upward lilt at the end of his sentences which he spoke through lips that barely moved. This, thought Evan, might make it easier. Given his accent, he almost _had_ to be from the Capitol; likely a debtor marking time until his tenure was up and he could get back home.

Evan stepped forward and said, as earnestly as he could manage, "I'm here to register for tesserae. I got kicked out of my house."

The man looked at Trevor and lifted his eyebrows. Trevor replied, "I'm here from the Community Home. Mrs. Drewson couldn't come."

The Peacekeeper rolled his eyes and muttered something rude about Mrs. Drewson, then said, "All right, kid. You're the witness for him – what're your names?"

"Trevor." "Evan."

"Okay. You. Evan, sign the book here. Got any proof of age?"

Evan hoped he didn't look as unnerved as he felt at the sudden probing nature of the questions he was getting. "Just my registration records at the Home. My parents didn't really keep birth certificates."

The big man sighed. "All right. Lemme just get the book." He brought out from his desk a large spiral-bound book with lined pages, showing the current year's reaping and tesserae amounts. He said, "How old are you?"

Evan replied, "Fourteen."

The man flipped over to the section for people aged fourteen and pointed to a blank line. In a monotone, he rattled off his instructions. "Name, address – that'll be the Home, won't it? – signature, check the box if you want to take out tesserae, and if you're taking them out for someone else, write down their names below yours and check the box. Remember, each time you take out tesserae it's _your_ name that gets on more slips."

Evan saw that just a couple of lines above his, he saw that "Trevor Duncan" had signed up for himself, and taken one tessera for himself as well, which meant he was entered three times based on his age, and then another three due to his tesserae.

He wrote his own name down and took out tesserae for himself. He didn't want to, but he needed that bread and the oil for heating would be needed at the Home.

Curiosity got the better of Evan and as he handed the book back, he said, "Sir? Do you use that computer to make the slips for the Reapings?"

As the Peacekeeper looked at Evan in surprise, Trevor quickly grabbed Evan and pulled him back, saying, "Look, I'm sorry, we'll just—"

The man, whose expression seemed to soften, chuckled and waved Trevor off. Evan breathed a sigh of relief at not having screwed it all up for the two of them. "Don't worry about it, kids. This job's boring enough as it is. It's not like it's a huge secret. Can you imagine writing out names by hand for thousands of kids, as many times as their tesserae? Sure, I use this machine here. When I'm not registering people like you, I do recordkeeping." He closed the registration book and tossed it negligently onto his desk.

Evan tried to look contrite as he said, "Thank you. But I'm sorry for speaking out of turn. I won't do it again, sir."

The Peacekeeper shrugged. "Hmpf. Your bread and oil'll be delivered to the Community Home tomorrow with the rest of the tesserae for kids who live there. You get your allotment spread out through the year in weekly deliveries. Understand?"

Evan nodded, keeping his eyes cast down.

"Okay. Get outta here."

Evan and Trevor rushed out the large double doors and walked southward. As soon as they were at the south end of the town square, Trevor grabbed Evan and slammed him against the wall of a store. "You stupid _shithead_! You don't ask questions like that! Snow, but you deserve that job you're doing, 'cause a _girl_ would blabber like that."

Desperately, Evan said, "I'm sorry, okay? I just... sometimes talk before my brain stops me, you know?"

Trevor glared at him darkly and said, "You're just lucky. Remember what I said about goin' against the grain? You seem to be doin' a lot of that lately. And in the Home especially, doin' that's _not_ a good idea! You're either really smart or really stupid, and I can't figure out which, 'cause I don't think anyone else in the Home would have even _tried_ guessing what that box was on the guy's desk."

As the boys kept walking, keeping an eye out for the bus which would take them back to the Home, Evan said, "You mean they don't teach anything about computers in school, or...?"

"What I know 'bout a computer is they're supposed to be really fancy smart electrics that can do math for you. But if there are any at the school I sure ain't seen 'em."

Trevor ran his hand through his hair and looked back up the street. He waved at the bus, which wheezed to a stop to pick them up. As the boys seated themselves in the bus, Trevor put his hand on Evan's shoulder and looked him in the eye.

He sighed and said, "Look, I ain't _that_ mad. I mean, now that we're outta there, it doesn't seem like it was so dangerous. But you gotta realize, you're one of us now. Knot kids. We got _reasons_ not to trust Peacekeepers. Not getting noticed is the smart thing."

/\/\

Back at the Home, Evan was put back to work boiling potatoes. He found his old clothes had been left untouched in the kitchen where he'd left them bundled up on a table. That table now had a pile of potatoes which the girl, Amber, was peeling and putting into a pot. The girl seemed marginally less cold to him than before, but still somewhat nervous, as she said, "Put these pots on your fires, keep the fires high, and tell me when the water's boiling."

Evan nodded, then remembered a question. "Uh, Amber?"

She stared at him warily, as if expecting him to try to hit her.

"Do these fires ever get put out?"

Amber shook her head and replied, her quiet voice difficult to hear over the fires, "Not till after dishwashing's done. You see the bowls and spoons from this morning stacked up on that table over where I was boiling water earlier today? Those'll be joined by the plates and I'll have to get some hot water up for dishwashing. You'll be helping with that, too."

Evan nodded and turned to his pots, morosely poking one of the potatoes floating in the water, watching it bob up and down. He thought he recognized a few from the ends that had been cut off, a byproduct of his and Trevor's mold removal. Three other girls came in shortly after, helping Amber with the potato peeling, as well as cutting thin slices of bread and putting them on large plates for serving later.

Dinner preparation was uneventful. Once the potatoes had boiled sufficiently, Evan was instructed to first carefully pour off the hot water into the drain underneath the tap he had used that morning to get cold water, then carefully set the pots on the tiled part of the table that had recently held a mountain of unpeeled potatoes. His job was to pluck the hot potatoes out and put them next to Amber, who would cut them into pieces with a sharp little knife and put them in a large ceramic serving bowl.

He watched with interest as the level in his pot shrank and the mound in Amber's bowl grew. She was an expert with the knife, paying no mind to her fingers as she rapidly sliced the potatoes into more manageable chunks.

Needless to say, by the end of it, Evan was happy the pots had cooled off enough when he needed to start reaching into the bottom of the first one to pluck out the last few potatoes before moving on to the next one. His fingers would not be thanking him for this job, that was for sure.

His mouth watered at seeing the food almost ready to eat, but Eliza had other ideas. She marched into the kitchen and grabbed Evan's shoulder, shoving him sharply to the door that went into the dining area. "You don't get to eat with us first. Get out and wait with the others. You're lucky we're back up to normal supper rations, or you'd be one of the first to go without food tonight."

Eliza scowled as she flung the door open and pointed him into the dining room, which, luckily, didn't have anyone in it yet. Evan, his mood sinking as he wondered how much longer he'd have to wait until he could eat, walked out and unlocked the dining room door, then went upstairs to where the "Brain Gang"'s bedroom was.

Cobie looked up as Evan entered, and in mock surprise, he said, "Hey! You didn't fall off the end of the world after all! Where've you been, newbie?"

Evan, by now fed up with being in a hot kitchen, nearly misstepping with a Peacekeeper, and hungry to boot, snapped, "Fuck you, Cobie!", punctuating that with his middle finger and a withering glare.

The room, which had been filled with murmurs of conversation, abruptly went quiet at Evan's outburst. After a couple of moments, Fir said, a bit sharply, "What's got _you_ all riled up?"

Cobie, for his part, looked stunned.

Evan laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, what's got me riled up? I'll tell you. This jackass here thought it'd be funny to send me downstairs to go ask for clean clothes from the laundry girls before they'd opened up. So that bitch Eliza grabs me, pulls me inside, nearly strangles me, and tells me and tells Jim Saxon I'm gonna work for _her_, boiling water all day for laundry and food!"

Cobie guffawed, breaking the silence after Evan's tirade. "You're doin' _girl_ work? Oh, man!"

He sat on one of the beds, shaking in laughter as he clutched his stomach. The other boys in the room seemed amused, too. Chip said darkly, "You ain't gonna get any sympathy, if that's what you're looking for. Y'didn't _have_ to listen to this idiot."

Evan wearily sat on Trevor's bed next to the other boy, and growled, "Oh, fuck you all, again."

Trevor rolled his eyes, adding, "He didn't tell you all the _other_ thing he did that nearly got him and me in deep shit when we went to get him signed up for tesserae, y'know."

Evan scowled. "Oh, go snow yourself, Trevor. The Peacekeeper didn't seem to care that I know what a computer is. And I notice you're not spitting nails about it anymore, anyway."

Trevor seemed to back down a touch. "I don't think the Peacekeeper's gonna come lookin' for us. He seemed lazy enough, anyway. It's just... you can't get yourself noticed, man. Not by them."

Oak nodded and came over to Evan. "One time, I bumped into a Peacekeeper patrolling down here in the Knot." He shook his head at the memory. "Wasn't watching where I was goin' on account of Fir and me not wanting to get busted pickpocketing. Asshole grabbed me, kicked me in the stomach, then punched me in the gut so hard I barfed up all over the sidewalk."

Fir said, "And when I caught up to Oak, the guy just looked at me, looked at Oak, sneered and walked off. C'mon, man. You've been beaten by a Peacekeeper, you've gotta have _some _idea of what they can do to us."

Put that way, Evan could see a little more clearly why Trevor had been so rattled at the deviation from what should have been a routine task. He turned and said to Trevor, "Look, I'm sorry again. I didn't have any idea it was _that_ bad. I mean, getting belted in front of you all was kind of a... I dunno, a special case? I've never seen them do anything like that to people."

That last was the literal truth, seeing as all he'd ever done was read about Romulus Thread.

Peter said, "You town kids don't know from snow what it's really like. Now you're learnin'."

Evan sighed. Jeff came up and said, "I'm sure it won't be that bad here for you all the time, Evan."

He chuckled. "Thanks, kid. But I'm not exactly helping myself much around here." He stood up and extended his hand to Cobie. Swallowing his pride, Evan said, "Look, I shouldn't have yelled at you earlier. It's just... everything all at once, you know?"

The bell clanged, and the other boys started leaving the room. Cobie came up to Evan, shook his hand and said, "I'll accept your apology if you tell me one thing." He wiggled his eyebrows and said, "What're the girls doing in there?"

Evan laughed. He said, "Tell you the truth, nothing special. It wasn't like they had a party going on in there or anything, you know?"

Cobie was disappointed. "Damn. You know that girl, Amber?"

Evan nodded. "Yeah, kind of."

They walked down the stairs, trailing behind most of the other people streaming down to the dining room. Cobie nudged him and whispered, "She's got a nice ass."

Evan shook his head in amusement and said, "I stare at those girls even cross-eyed I think Eliza'd bash me over the head with one of those metal pots, you know what I mean?"

Cobie said, "Man, you'll end up wearin' a dress one of these days. You do that, I'm gonna swear I don't know you at all."

"That's not gonna happen. You think I'd look good in one of those outfits? Maybe a matching bonnet?"

It was Cobie's turn to shake his head in amusement as they entered the dining room and seated themselves in the same spots they'd been in the morning.

Eliza stood at the end of the long serving table and sharply whistled to silence everyone. She barked, "All right! We're back to normal food rations, no thanks to the Peacekeepers. Line up, and no fighting or this food goes back into the kitchen. _Got it_?"

After a beat, she nodded and folded her arms, scowling at everyone as people slowly got up and filtered into a line-up to get food. Evan realized other boys might be less accommodating about his social status, or lack thereof, when a tall teenager behind him shoved him and said, "Hey, look, it's a girl who looks like a guy. Gonna wear an apron and spread your legs for me for some bread?"

Too shocked at the crudity of the suggestion to respond, Evan just clamped his mouth shut and determinedly refused to give in to the provocations. Unfortunately, the guy in front of him in the line-up was also from Jim Saxon's table, and so he got shoved back and forth a couple more times. As they neared the serving table, Eliza's poisonous glare shut them all up and quieted everyone down, letting Evan accept a plate and a fork from Martha, who beamed at him, then scowled at the boy behind him who'd just yanked a plate off the pile in front of her. A few thin potato slices and two bread slices later, Evan was back at his table.

The bread barely deserved to be called it, tasting like whole wheat bread that had been left out for a week and then adulterated heavily with Snow only knew what. Knowing the district he was in, probably sawdust. In fact, it might as well have been carved from a block of wood in the first place.

After Evan swallowed the last piece of bread with some difficulty, leaving his mouth dry, he ate the potatoes, which at least had the advantage of having been cooked in water. They didn't help much, and he ended up still feeling hungry in the end, his dinner forming a lump in the pit of his stomach.

To take his mind off the meager meal, he said to Trevor, "Where do we eat tesserae bread?"

"Oh. That. We keep them in folded-up newspaper and eat them after supper in our rooms; we kinda squirrel the bread away in case the Peacekeepers barge in here and start grabbing food. You ain't got any tonight, but I'll give you a small piece. It tastes a bit better than this crap."

Evan didn't hold out much hope for the taste, and after dinner broke up, he leaned towards Trevor, muttering, "Can you save that for me later? I'm s'posed to wash dishes for the girls too."

Trevor rolled his eyes. "If you didn't seem like a decent guy I'd be swearing up and down I didn't know you from a piece of wood, you know that?"

Evan couldn't figure out a good reply to that.

* * *

Author Notes: Thanks go to **CrazyNerdyFangirl** for nitpicking this and **Claratrix LeChatham** for her valuable beta work! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

On Sunday, Evan discovered the method of Jim Saxon's control over the Community Home; he already knew, from Trevor, that Jim took some tessera bread for himself, but had no idea how that could be enforced.

Luckily, Evan had managed to wake up before the clanging of the loud cymbal, which, he discovered, was kept by Eliza in the laundry room. She would also wake up early, sneak in a shower for herself and for the girls she favored, then crash a large spoon against the cymbal at the base of the stairwell to wake everybody else up.

So, decently showered and in decent, proper District Seven clothes fit for a teenager from the Knot, he knocked at the laundry door and waited until it opened. He felt a tad scummy from the soap, and achy from the day before, but the Home felt a bit more familiar now. Twig opened the door, regarded him with a blank expression, and silently pointed him to his duties in the kitchen. Amber came in after him and showed him what to do with the ashes from last night's fires and where the flint spark rocks were kept to start fires afresh.

The first thing he was assigned to do was help make the oatmeal breakfasts. He boiled water, poured oatmeal in, then stirred until somewhat thick. At that point, the two boys apparently assigned to help carry the heavy pots showed up. Evan realized with a sinking heart that they were the same two who'd shoved him around the other day, and he endured their mocking laughs and sneers as they put the pots out for serving.

As had happened for supper, Evan was kicked out by Eliza and made to wait with the rest of the Home's kids. Remembering the vile taste of the oatmeal, Evan picked Shelby this time, who swirled her ladle around the top, which resulted in him getting a watery breakfast that was halfway palatable.

After breakfast, he continued the water-boiling and pot-carrying tasks, and finished by around eleven in the morning, as less laundry needed to be done after the hectic schedule of the day before. Evan, released from his duties, was told to return around four.

Evan gathered that the weekend was for the bulk of the cleaning work done in the Home, since the legal school-leaving age was sixteen and several boys and girls would work at poorly-paying jobs in the Knot or, if they were fortunate, for a business outside of the Knot.

Soon after eleven, the tessera truck rumbled by, and the line-up of boys and girls stretched from the gate along the lawn surrounding the Home, winding around it. Evan managed to jostle for a spot in the middle, and waited stolidly as the line slowly inched forwards.

Outside the gate, he saw that two men stood outside the back of a large truck, and a third man was handing out containers of a liquid as well as round pieces of bread. Each person had to sign their name or, if they were illiterate, put an X by the spot with their name on it. Evan noticed that the younger children looked out from the windows, some with wistful expressions. He wondered if any of them had older siblings to take out tesserae for them, but it seemed unlikely.

He remembered again how Katniss had, through sheer force of will, held on to life until she turned twelve so she could collect tesserae for herself, Prim and her mother. The looks of longing he saw made the situation so much more real than anything his imagination had invented about the Hunger Games. He swallowed a lump in his throat and tried not to think about it too much as he kept his eyes on the people ahead of him.

Very soon, at the back of the truck, he was due for his own tesserae. One of the men shoved a clipboard at him and barked, "Name?"

"Evan Williams!"

He saw that the names were in simple alphabetical order by last name in computer print that looked like it had dots in it. He dimly remembered printers from the 1970s and 1980s that were loud and noisy, but printed blazingly fast if all you needed was text. Evan tried not to look interested.

He signed next to the words WILLIAMS, EVAN, and received a white container probably a pint in size, marked with the words "OIL – DO NOT EAT", and a round piece of bread around eight inches in diameter.

Upon returning to the Home, one of the guys who'd shoved him last night grabbed his arm. "You're new here, unless I miss my guess. Go down that way to the basement and look for Big Jim. You try sneakin' out of it and I'll rearrange your face."

As the boy waved his fist menacingly, Evan scowled and went to the door he remembered from the previous day. He shimmied past a guy coming back the other way and went downstairs, spotting the line-up of Community Home kids trailing out of a room. He mentally groused about his third line-up of the day.

In the room stood a large boiler. Against the opposite wall were several of the containers like the oil container Evan had. Two stone-faced guys stood to either side of Big Jim, who sat at the wall opposite the door entering the room, and had a small table and a knife in front of him. The girl at the head of the lineup handed over her oil and gave Jim her bread, keeping her eyes on the floor and obviously trying to attract as little attention as possible.

Indignation shot through Evan as he saw Jim cut off about a fifth of the bread and drop it in a box next to him. The girl took back the remainder of the bread and fled the room.

Trevor's warnings echoed in his ears as he silently accepted Jim hacking off some of the bread for himself. As Evan left, he saw that the tessera bread was a lighter brown than the pitiful excuse for bread that he'd eaten the previous night. He went upstairs to the communal bedroom, and waited for Trevor, hoping to see a friendly face after his lousy morning. The sky had been grey all morning, blanketed by clouds. That hadn't helped his mood.

The previous night, after he'd gotten done with the dishwashing, Trevor had gone to the closet in the room and shown him the shelves on which each boy's bread sat, carefully wadded up in newspaper. Apparently each person chose his own style of newspaper, since Trevor tended to choose brightly-colored advertisements extolling the virtues of new government-issue television sets specially guaranteed not to break down for five years, while smaller portions for Jeff were wrapped in the cartoon pages.

A bread knife stayed in the closet. No boy ever took it for himself. The one guy who'd stolen the knife from the closet five years before, Trevor had announced solemnly, found himself electrocuted three days later when he touched the light switch the wrong way.

Evan had swallowed nervously, asking if the boy had lived.

Trevor had stared coldly and said, "He didn't come back from the hospital."

The last bit of bread hadn't gone down Evan's throat very easily.

Evan's thoughts returned to the present as Jeff bounded into the room and said, "Oh boy. Jim's going to give me some bread tonight at dinner!"

In a flash, Evan realized what Jim was doing – by controlling access to tessera food, he created a parallel power structure to Eliza's and created loyalty to him among the younger boys and girls, meaning they wouldn't complain when in their turn, they would be eligible for tesserae. But even with that, one-fifth of each person's bread loaf was a _lot_, which also explained why he kept hearing about girls becoming attached to boys for extra bread. Hunger had never seemed real to Evan before; at home he would scrape his plate into the dog's food bowl after a meal he didn't like, and if the dog didn't like it, the food was just thrown out.

It was such a different world he was in!

Food.

Hunger.

_Control._

At every level of existence in Panem, food meant control. Food meant you could make your own destiny. If you didn't have it, someone else could make yours for you.

The other boys filtering into the room distracted Evan from his thoughts, and he squared up with Trevor for the tesserae. Then, after they scrounged for some newspaper, Evan wrapped his bread in the section he'd found, which was a fluff piece about Capitol fashions. He put his wrapped-up bread on a shelf that was empty of anyone else's.

To take his mind off other things, he got up onto his bed, sprawled out on it, and said to the room at large, "What makes you guys all smart, anyway?"

Fir grinned as he leaned against his brother. "Seen me and Oak pick pockets?"

Cobie laughed and sat on his bed. "They're so good they could probably lift the Capitol out of Snow's pocket if they wanted to."

Trevor, standing near Evan's head, said, "Well, you already know I know my way in and out of every part of this place and I know the records better than anyone."

Chip grumbled, "I work with wood some. Nothin' special."

Trevor lightly punched Evan's shoulder. "He should talk! Drewson's loved him ever since her chair broke and he managed to sneak into the school after hours and use the lathe to make a new leg for it."

He brightened up and pointed to Cobie. "And hey, ever seen this guy's innocent face? He could probably convince you he was borrowing somethin' instead of out and out stealing it. Sly fox, he is."

Cobie stuck his tongue out at Trevor. "You're just jealous I managed to convince Mr. Hallstrom I wanted to admire his ring when he busted me tryin' to steal it so I could pawn it. Not exactly the sharpest pine needle on the tree, though. The Peacekeepers are the real challenges."

Peter said, "Hey, what about me, huh?"

"What about you, hmm?" asked Trevor mockingly. "How 'bout that one time – you know – where we needed someone the Peacekeepers never give a second look to? I could swear I've seen Peacekeepers' eyes slide past you like you're not even there."

Peter hissed, "Hey! Not here, huh?"

Oak rolled his eyes, shoved Fir slightly, and sprawled out on his bed. "You seriously think the new guy is gonna go running to the Peacekeepers? I bet that ice bitch'd love to have him whipped for real if he does. _You_ wouldn't be getting blamed. She'd think it was _him_ who did it, tryin' to pass it off on you. Bet she doesn't even know your name. Certainly remembers his, if he ever told her that day."

Evan shuddered. "_Don't_ remind me. I never want to get hit by one of them again. Fists, belt, whip – none of it!"

Fir nodded in sympathy. "Some of us were at the square that day. It's been a while since I heard screams like yours. Gotta be your first strapping."

Chip growled, "Last time was Andrew's whipping, but then again you're a town kid. Probably never got beat by your old man for anythin'."

Evan felt like he ought to get upset over it, but just shrugged in the end. What could he say? His parents would have been arrested for making him scream like that. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling as he wondered how he could spend the rest of his life like this. Even if he could keep his old life out of his mind, as he had been… his stomach twisted at the thought, and he shook his head. Better not to think about it.

/\/\

On Monday morning, after hurriedly scarfing down a watery breakfast, Evan found out from Trevor that most of the kids would be walking to the school that was about half an hour away. The grandfather clock had showed the time was 7:30 when they left, and school was due to start at 8:15.

So Evan walked with the large group of children ranging from the ages of five all the way to eighteen (though not that many seemed to want to stay in school past sixteen). He noticed how the girls who tended to the littler children at the center table at breakfasts and dinners also mother-henned them on the way to school, brushing back a child's hair a bit, or quickly buttoning another's threadbare sweater, or scooping up a five or six-year-old boy who was complaining his feet hurt. No one had any sort of backpack or boxed lunch. It must have been an odd sight, even stranger in Evan's own time, to see a whole cluster of poorly-dressed kids trudging off to school.

The morning was somewhat cloudy, with bits of blue sky peeking through. Hopefully the clouds would clear up later in the day, letting the sun warm him up on the return trip. As Evan strode along with Cobie, the other guy thumped his shoulder and said, "Too bad you're not wearin' those strange duds you had last week; you'd be kinda famous at school. It's a big deal. Even the teachers were talking about it after the Peacekeepers let you go, y'know?"

Evan snorted. "Famous? That's the _last_ thing I need right now."

"Hey. How come I've never seen you before last week, anyway? I don't – well, didn't – go to school that much, but I'm kinda sure I know a lot of people by eye. Even the merchants' kids, though I guess the richer ones have their own special expensive school, for the most part… they don't usually get abandoned, though."

Evan shrugged, stalling for time as he thought of a good excuse to use.

Finally, he said, "My parents kept me at home and taught me there."

Cobie whistled. "I didn't think that was even legal! I guess before we got that new Head Peacekeeper it wouldn't have mattered, though."

"Yeah, I guess. They did it for a while… before she came. Didn't want to change things."

They were now trudging along one of the secondary roads, and the multitude of children walking along caused a dust trail to rise, enveloping the people half a block behind him. He saw that the road ahead ended in a large grass field. As they entered the field, the smaller kids broke off and went to the right, off to the smaller school building.

The larger school building, to the left, was obviously the secondary school. He saw the girl put down the smaller boy whose feet had hurt, quickly kiss him on the forehead and ruffle his hair. He waved shyly at her and joined the other smaller kids at the little schoolhouse, where a tired young woman waited at the door to usher them in.

"Hey, where do I register? You know?" asked Evan.

Cobie shrugged. "Everybody goes to one school or the other. It's not exactly mysterious. Trevor might know, I guess… where is he, anyway? Sorry, can't help you there."

_Shit_, thought Evan. Just like him to have to be the nail that stuck up when it should be hammered down!

He began thinking hard and realized – _Caitlin!_ If she could help him...

Sure enough, he saw the girl waiting at the front doors of the larger school. He rushed up, smiling broadly. "Hey, Caitlin!"

Caitlin jumped back in surprise, then recognition dawned and she blurted, "Evan! I didn't recognize you in those clothes! You made it!" Before he could stop her, she quickly hugged him, which forced him to awkwardly hug her lightly in return.

Caitlin released him from her embrace and smiled at him. She said, "Listen, let's get you registered—"

Evan's laugh cut her off. As they walked inside the school, Evan said, "Sorry, Caitlin, it's just… that's exactly why I was looking for you!" He couldn't help but grin at the synchronicity.

She patted his shoulder. "Great minds think alike. Come with me. I was talking to my aunt when she came over on Sunday."

It turned out Caitlin's aunt was the school's guidance counsellor, or as they called it in District Seven, the "School Recordkeeper". Considering that Guidance Counselling back home had rarely involved real counselling and not much in the way of guidance, Evan figured at least in this regard, Panem was more honest about things than the USA.

"She's not _really_ my aunt, because she's my dad's cousin-in-law. But my dad's cousin's been Uncle Shane for so long, Aunt Nancy's been... well, Aunt Nancy," explained Caitlin as they entered the Recordkeeper's office. A woman in her forties greeted them and smiled at Caitlin, then said, "So this is the unfortunate young man, then."

Evan nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Polite, too, for all that you're from the Community Home," she observed, surprised, and smiled approvingly.

Evan felt a bit offended on behalf of his newfound friends, but said nothing as he seated himself across the table from her, nodding quietly. She seemed like the sort of person who enjoyed being listened to. Evan could see why she would be fond of Caitlin.

"Now, Caitlin's already filled me in on the details, so all you need to do is fill out this form I've prepared for you."

Evan, skimming it quickly, saw that his name (Evan Williams) had been given, with a blank spot for his day of birth, which he remembered to give from the falsified intake record at the Home. The rest of the form indicated he was from the Community Home, but curiously, the registration date didn't seem quite right.

Correctly interpreting Evan's squint at the paper, the woman leaned in confidentially and said, "I've backdated the form so the next baton-wielding so-and-so who comes in and shakes up this office can't pull you out for another beating."

Confused, Evan blurted, "But I always thought that everybody here behaved and never said a bad word about Peacekeepers."

"Well, I'll tell you, the new Head Peacekeeper coming in and throwing her weight around certainly has disabused us of the notion that complacency before authority is always justified. I won't have her strapping any student who doesn't _thoroughly_ deserve it."

She pointed sharply at Evan and Caitlin and said in a hard voice, "But you two must _never_ repeat that to _anyone_. Is that understood?"

The two teens nodded earnestly, though Evan filed away this useful point of difference between Districts Twelve and Seven. Maybe having workers who didn't have to go underground, risking being killed every time they just went to their jobs, had something to do with this slightly more independent streak. They would, undoubtedly, be more difficult to kill off quietly if their small forms of rebellion were noticed.

Then again, it also obviously meant Peacekeepers didn't mind beating up teenagers.

"Now, sign here and sign the school's copy of your course sheet here. You've got Caitlin's schedule, except she's got Home Ec while you've got Woodworking in the same block. Luckily it's only been a couple of weeks into classes so you won't have missed much. Just tell the teacher you've been sick."

"Thanks!" said Evan.

The woman waved him off. "Caitlin had nothing but nice things to say about you. She's always one to try and lend a hand and get others to do the same. I hope you'll get along well."

Caitlin smiled and tugged Evan's arm. "C'mon, the bell hasn't rung yet. Let's go!"

As Evan Williams began his first day of education in the country of Panem, a thought went through his mind: _How much of it would be lies and how much of it would be truth?_

* * *

Author Notes: I'd like to thank **Claratrix LeChatham** and **SkyWriter9** for looking this over and betaing this for me. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**In Order to Survive**  
Chapter 10

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

_History of Panem._

As Evan sat at the wooden desk, he gazed in interest around the history teacher's classroom and noticed a lot of posters showing past leaders, both of District Seven and the Presidents of Panem. No one he knew, of course. A yellowed, fading picture of a less-grotesque and slightly younger President Snow was the closest this class would get to familiarity for him. There were maps, but only those which showed the evolution of District Seven from a small logging town to its present state of logging, sawmilling and papermaking.

Caitlin sat to his left; they were in the middle rows, not too close to the teacher, Mrs. Deming who had simply handed Evan a textbook and said, "Take a seat," a few minutes ago.

Mrs. Deming was now hand-writing his name on the attendance roll as other students filtered into the room, and when the bell rang, she said, "Okay, let's begin. I've been asked by the principal to remind students that being absent without excuse will merit severe consequences."

A murmur went around the room, and a couple of people looked at Evan. Mrs. Deming barked, "Allen, Edward!"

After the names were called and all people recorded present, she said, "Today we'll continue with the history of the growth of District Seven and, in doing so, analyze why it is that our use of technology is very limited. Please turn to page thirty-seven of your books, and we'll cover the highlights of the growth of forestry here after the Great Rebellion."

Evan grudgingly read along, as Mrs. Deming summarized each section, reminding the class to take more detailed notes for a quiz to come up in a week. He _had_ to ask a question after Mrs. Deming said, "And so, you can see that it was already clear by thirty years after the Great Rebellion that if we were to use too much electricity for technical gadgets that we have no need of, we would be unable to serve the Capitol with all the wood and paper products they require of us. Electricity may not be wholly unnecessary, but government experts are correct in that an excess has more potential to be destructive than helpful."

He raised his hand. Mrs. Deming seemed surprised by the gesture after such an apparently obvious point, but nodded and said, "Yes, ah, Evan?"

Trying to avoid sounding too different from the other District Seven kids, Evan said, "Why isn't it possible to just make as much electricity as we _want_? The Capitol uses all _kinds_ of technical gadgets, Mrs. Deming."

He tried not to let himself get angry as she said, "That's because the Capitol is wise enough to use its electricity well. We here in District Seven would simply waste it. Do you really think we need more lights than the two bulbs that light this room? Or more electric lights for the streets?"

Arguing with teachers, he knew, needed skills that rivalled those of submarine captains navigating among mined waters.

"But, Mrs. Deming," Evan countered, trying to keep himself from getting too upset. "What makes the Capitol any 'wiser' than we are? I mean, for one thing, people there are too impulsive to keep their skin one color all the time! And on top of that, they _rely_ on us for their wood and paper!"

Mrs. Deming shot him a withering look. "Mr. Williams, you will keep your tongue in my classroom. Your argument has nothing to do with electricity. I will ask you once to focus on the lesson and keep your head before you dig yourself into some real trouble."

Mrs. Deming smiled in that thin way which Evan had seen on teachers before, which meant 'end of discussion, and if you continue, detention, young man'. Caitlin was casting a concerned look in his direction. He tried to avoid her gaze.

To the class as a whole, she said, "If you recall, long before the Great Rebellion, even before the formation of Panem, the oceans rose and the Earth changed. Some researchers into pre-Panem society believe that reckless use of technology was a contributing factor to this wholesale destruction."

Evan flushed a dull red as he realized there was enough truth to that accusation. It still didn't mean he had to sit quietly while the teacher filled their heads with the ideology of subservience to the Capitol.

/\/\

At lunch, Evan avoided the school cafeteria and wandered outside to the grounds, aimlessly walking on the grassy field as other people spilled out of the school, clustering in groups as they ate sandwiches or fruits.

Evan noticed Amber from the Home was looking at him, and her expression clouded a bit when Caitlin touched his shoulder to get his attention. She smiled and said, "Hi."

"Hey."

"Are you hungry? I could split my apple."

Evan looked into Caitlin's eyes and saw her earnest expression. Still... "Nah. You keep it."

His stomach begged to differ, but unlike at her house, she couldn't hear it growling. She hesitantly took a bite out of the apple she held in her hand and looked at him apologetically as she chewed.

"How bad is the food at the Community Home, Evan?" asked Caitlin tentatively.

"Vile," replied Evan. His face screwed up in disgust at the thought of that oatmeal.

Caitlin held her apple out and said, "Take it. I mean it, Evan. You can't go eating only that disgusting stuff, if your expression's anything to go by."

Evan reluctantly reached for the apple, accidentally brushing Caitlin's fingers as he did so. After Evan swallowed his bite of the apple and offered it back to her, she shook her head. "I can get another one from the cafeteria. School lunches are free, Evan."

Evan groaned and smacked his forehead. Caitlin giggled and abruptly put her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle it.

After she stopped laughing at Evan's expense, Caitlin said, "What _was_ that in Mrs. Deming's class, anyway?"

Evan, full to the brim with his knowledge of the true state of affairs in Panem and still feeling a bit miffed about the History teacher's dismissiveness, spat, "Do you really expect me to believe we've got to drive old cars and constantly scrounge for food when the Capitol has so much?"

Caitlin looked terrified. In a small voice, she said, "Evan... _please._ You'll get whipped if you talk sedition."

She held his arm, willing him to back off. Evan let out a gust of breath. "Look, it's just... I've seen the Capitol on television once or twice. In the Home, it's kinda hard not to wish we had some of that too." He shrugged. "Hey, I'm not going to be starting an argument every day in class. Don't be worried, okay?"

Caitlin seemed a little less agitated. "I've seen those shows, too, after the night-time recaps of the Hunger Games, where they show the places the tributes stay in that fancy hotel of theirs. But that's just how things _are_, Evan," Caitlin stated. Even with that bald-faced truth, Evan found it hard to accept that a lot of District people believed the Capitol's teachings that they were inferior and deserved less because of it.

/\/\

A couple of weeks after that, Evan was sitting in the cafeteria with Caitlin at one of the tables when a dark-haired girl with a bit of an aggressive expression sat at the same table. Evan had felt as though he should know her, but couldn't figure out why. Something about her hair, shorter than the typical style of the district, and her annoyed expression.

A boy had come up and sat next to her. He said, "Hey, Johanna."

She'd looked sourly at him and said scathingly, "Just because you're my big brother doesn't mean you have to babysit me, okay? So go away, Andrew Mason. Find someone dumb enough to sit with you and stay _there_."

"Ow! Harsh! My own sister, telling me to leave. How'll I ever stand it?"

Caitlin giggled and Evan chuckled. Just then, he did a double take. This girl was _Johanna Mason_?

Johanna looked at them, seemed to dismiss them, and looked at Andrew, who looked like he might be thirteen or fourteen. Finally, he relented and grabbed his apple. "Look, Mom and Dad just want me to make sure you're okay. You don't talk to 'em much."

Johanna rolled her eyes. "And who's going around blabbering every detail of our family to everybody else in this place? Some brother _you_ are."

Andrew sighed and took off. Johanna glared briefly at Evan and Caitlin, then went back to her own lunch.

Evan quietly asked, "Who's that Johanna girl?"

"Oh, she's a grade below us. I sort of know her a little bit, because her dad buys wood from mine occasionally." Caitlin shrugged and went back to eating.

That, however, explained to Evan why he hadn't met her before, as they were in the ninth grade while Johanna would be in the eighth grade.

Even at twelve, Evan could see the hints of the strong girl she would become – the Victor of the Hunger Games who would eventually help Katniss escape, at the cost of her capture and torture in the Capitol. Evan shuddered at the idea of nearly drowning a girl then shocking her to force her to give up precious secrets the Capitol wanted so desperately. He suppressed a sudden desire to tell her something. What could he say, anyway?

Besides, if he dared tell Johanna, let along managed to _convince_ her of anything, what catastrophe might he wreak on Panem? On District Thirteen? Could that war – that rebellion – be lost because of his actions?

These unsettling thoughts stayed with him for a while afterwards.

/\/\

Aside from the sudden surprise of meeting Johanna Mason, the days and months passed in dreary monotony for Evan. Eating the same foods, doing the same jobs, seeing the same people over and over again.

Two sets of people did break the monotony from time to time: Trevor and the other guys who inhabited the same bedroom as Evan, and Caitlin Collins.

Early on, Cobie and Evan had quietly broken into the bakery where he had been dropped off. A twinge of remorse had gone through Evan at the sight of the empty cash register, but he managed to quell it – mostly, anyway. They had managed to make off with enough money to get his hair cut at a barber's. The barber had taken one look at Evan's hair, and promptly made him dunk his head in nearly-scalding hot water with pesticidal shampoo. Then the barber had broken out a shears and shaved Evan's head, saying, "Better to do it this way, kid."

That night, the "Brain Gang" had laughed themselves sick. Jeff had started it off by blurting, "Your face looks like the moon!" Fir and Oak had had to hold each other to keep from falling over, and Cobie had clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Well, at least you can see, right, Evan? It's just too bad that _this_ is what's in the mirror."

That caused some good-natured shoving, after which Evan had asked, "Haven't any of you seen a guy with short hair before?"

Chip had shaken his head. "Not really. We don't usually get good haircuts and not very often at that." He tugged at his own straggly hair and shrugged.

That night, Evan had dreamed of the girls he had known in what he was beginning to think of as his 'old life' berating him for getting a crew cut – something they'd always insisted wouldn't look good on him. Somehow, it left him just as melancholic in the morning as his dreams of his parents.

When he'd shown up for water-boiling the next morning, all the girls had stared at him in astonishment. Eliza's frown had been a bit less hostile, but only for that one morning. Evan suspected it was just due to sheer surprise.

Evan finally learned that Peter's secret mission with Trevor had been to slip into a hardware store and "liberate" a pipe needed to feed water into the boiler. The old feed pipe had broken that morning. Had Trevor had to get Mrs. Drewson to fill out a requisition, or forge his own, the hardware store would have taken its sweet time getting paid by the District government before letting them have the pipe.

So Trevor and Peter had quietly found the right length of pipe in the hardware store, and after several back-alley trips, shown up in the boiler room to give it to Jim Saxon in exchange for six of Jim's tessera-bread pieces. One of Jim's people, a pipefitter at the pulp mill, got it fixed in time for the next morning's showers.

Evan, astonished, had said, "And Peter had it on him while a Peacekeeper stopped you before crossing the road?"

Trevor had grinned. "He didn't even look at Peter. He just barked at me about 'loitering', slapped me upside the head and walked on."

Luckily, whatever Jim's gang might think of Evan, by the Community Home standards, he had gotten off lightly. Occasionally, one of them would purposely shove Evan out of the way if they happened to pass by. He'd only had his ass grabbed once, accompanied by a mocking, "Girls at least like it when I do that, you know."

Evan had glared daggers at the guy, who just grinned and waved a piece of bread at him. Evan had not had any further trouble from him, but then again, he saw one of the girls from the center table over by that guy at the older teenagers' table the next morning, which told him all he needed to know about that guy's pressure tactics.

The girls in the Home, upon realizing that Evan and Caitlin knew each other, occasionally made snide comments about "hanging out with a townie". Evan had protested, "Look, before I came here we knew each other. What's wrong with that?"

Twig, apparently the most vocal opponent of the 'nicer' town girls, had spat, "C'mon. She's just bein' a little rebel. As soon as her old man finds out, the Peacekeepers'll storm through here like a logging truck blowin' through this place, _you'll_ get whipped, and _we'll_ lose our food again. Sorry if I ain't happy for your little romance."

Martha had been the only detractor, piping up and saying, "But if he's nice and she's nice, shouldn't they be happy together?"

Eliza, by now grudgingly accepting that Evan truly intended no harm to any of the girls, had laughed bitterly. "I could tell you stories about how that goes wrong, Martha. Go on and play with the girls upstairs for a bit, okay?"

Eliza rarely let Martha play with the other "babysitter girls" on the floor just above the main floor, but as the eight-year-old always seemed happy when she came back, Eliza allowed it. Evan noticed Eliza seemed to stiffen a little when Martha wasn't near, and he concluded that some instinct in the District 2 population manifested in protectiveness and loyalty. Presumably, this instinct was typically honed to make District 2 people fanatically loyal to the Capitol. In Eliza's case, she would, if necessary, kill to keep someone from hurting Martha.

On that occasion, apparently wanting to take her mind off that slight uneasiness, Eliza actually talked to Evan while he boiled water.

Her expression, he realized, had changed enough so she didn't look at him with barely-hidden hostility anymore. "Look, I understand you might not mean to hurt that girl, but you gotta know you could. If her parents find out, I mean. Just the word 'Knot' sends a lot of woodcutter dads up in arms."

"It's kind of a long story," muttered Evan. "But they sorta already know."

She sighed. "Fine. But Twig's right, though. We can't go around getting noticed. When we do, bad things happen."

Evan said, "But isn't it better than me and someone here, though? If I start dating her and then break up, it doesn't make a mess here, right?"

Eliza guffawed. "_Romance._ Hah." She seemed to shake herself out of the benign mood she was in, and said, "Get the laundry pots moving."

Caitlin had taken to eating lunches with Evan, either in the school cafeteria or out on the field, and upon seeing Evan's shaved head, had blushed and asked if she could touch his hair. Her fingers felt nice as they rubbed his skull, and truth be told, he didn't mind her occasional touches on his arm or shoulder.

To pass the time at lunches or after school, he would sometimes tell stories he claimed to have read in books, but which were real tales of his home life. He found, though, that as much as it felt like therapy to talk of his old life and relive old memories, he would end up spending a sleepless night feeling homesick, and often woke up with suspiciously wet eyes, feeling inexplicably guilty.

/\/\

On a week in late October, Caitlin, smiling widely, said, "Evan! Have you heard?"

Confused, Evan scratched his head and said, "No, what?"

She dragged him to a poster. There was a Fall Festival dance coming up at the school in early November. Evan, having noticed how District Seven seemed like an odd hodgepodge of the 1930s and 1950s, realized she was hinting for him to ask _her_ to the dance. But...

He said, "Oh. Um, I... might be busy that night."

Caitlin, disappointed, said quietly, "I thought you would want to go."

Evan leaned against the wall and looked at the girl. He decided, suddenly, that Caitlin's smile looked really nice, and didn't feel very good that her face had such a dejected, sad expression right that moment. Worse, it was his fault.

In desperation, he said, "Look, I can try to get out of it, okay?"

With the corners of her mouth lifting, she said slowly, "So you'll go?"

Evan replied, "Will you come with me to the dance, Caitlin?"

She grinned widely and said, "Thank you so much!"

This time, when they hugged, Evan didn't hesitate, though he had to hurriedly move his hand up a bit when she leaped a little higher than he expected. She didn't seem to mind his accidental touch, though.

It almost hadn't been worth it when he disclosed this to Shelby, Twig, and Amber, who had, by now, begun to put up with him. The day before the dance, he had guardedly asked if, by any chance, they had some extra-good clothes.

Amber held up the clothes – a white collared shirt and black pants – then frowned and said, "And why do you need these again?"

Evan blushed and choked out, "Um, there's the school dance... you know... I want to look nice..."

The girls all giggled loudly.

Shelby, behind Evan, barked, "D'you think we should help him, girls?"

Amber yanked the shirt and pants back out of reach, and pontificated, "You know, you dating that town girl is just asking for trouble."

Evan, confused, said, "Wait a second. How did you even know that? All I did was ask her to the dance!"

Twig came around to face Evan and rolled her eyes. "Amber and me, we see you with her _every_ day at school. It's more like a matter of when, not if."

Evan sighed. "Look, her parents know about it already."

The girls giggled again, and then Twig seemed to recoil in shock. "Wait. They know? Ew! Is she your _sister_ or something?"

Evan just stared at Twig in confusion.

She snorted. "I bet that's the only reason she's going out with you. Nobody knows you're related, huh? Ooh, _doubly_ forbidden!"

Shelby laughed. "We can keep a secret!"

Evan groaned, put his hand to his forehead and growled, "No. She. isn't. my. sister!"

"The more you deny it, the faker it sounds," Shelby said skeptically.

Evan looked despairingly at her and decided to just go in his ratty clothes. Amber, apparently sensing this, relented and said, "Fine, okay, you fooled her parents good and they like you. Here. We'll clean these clothes. They came from some guy who never wore 'em after the day he came here because he worried they'd get stolen off him."

Shelby's slightly mocking tone disappeared as well as she said, "Look, we get it. You wouldn't be this desperate to look good for your sister anyway, unless it was some stupid family thing. Not that we're totally ruling that out."

Evan snorted, his false back story coming easier to him now. "Shelby, my parents're likely dead. Caitlin's family only took me in for a little while so I could do some odd jobs for her old man. But after I got beaten that day—"

Twig softly said, "I understand. I got kicked out for something like that, too. It's worse when it's your own family instead of just someone you work for." She brightened up as she said, "And really, don't freak out. This is just how we have fun, okay?"

The girls, as good as their promise, washed and dried the clothes Evan needed. He, in turn, made sure their water pots were hot as possible and every request they had, he moved as quickly as he could to fulfill. The episode did a lot to soothe relations in the hot, humid laundry room, though the girls had, Evan thought, been slowly warming up to him even before then.

Caitlin was shocked, but surprised, to see Evan show up at the school in his good clothes. She, in turn, was wearing the nicest one-piece dress she owned, which hugged parts of her Evan didn't mind admiring from the back.

They had made their way to the school gymnasium, and luckily, he wasn't that bad of a dancer and the music played by the live band was somewhat similar to instrumental jazz from the 1940s, so he picked up the right pacing easily.

After the dance, they had kissed for the first time. Kissing had led to a little touching, but neither Evan nor Caitlin wanted to let it get to the point of clothes coming off, and with some difficulty, they managed to avoid any more delays getting Caitlin back to the Town Square, where they would part ways.

After that, they became an item. He had his first girlfriend!

/\/\

A month away from the Victory Tour, winter had set in hard. Christmas had just passed, and it had been difficult for all the Home's kids, but especially for Fir and Oak. Oak, his voice breaking, said, "Why couldn't Mom and Dad come visit us, Fir?"

Fir swallowed hard and looked at the floor. He roughly said, "Oak, they've never cared for us. If they did, we wouldn't _be_ here. C'mon, little brother, forget 'em, okay?"

Trevor kicked his bed, shaking Evan, who had been laying on the upper bunk, surveying the somber boys from his height.

Evan leaned over and quietly said, "You okay, man?"

Trevor shook his head, sighing gloomily. "I don't remember Christmas as well, but my Mom _had_ to have celebrated it with me when I was a kid, didn't she? Can't remember, really. Damn it!"

His punch to the sideboard of Evan's bunk seemed more resigned than angry. Even Cobie, who had joked the entire time he and Evan had sneaked into and out of the bakery, hadn't seemed up to joking. The Home was draped in an air of melancholy that was hard to shake off, especially as Evan's thoughts turned frequently to his own family. Even the girls in the laundry room were resigned, and Eliza in particular was less snappish, but seemingly in compensation, she refused to let Martha from her sight if she could possibly avoid it.

January passed by without much notice, except that Evan finally got a look at the mysterious Mrs. Drewson. He was trudging downstairs one day before Eliza was due to wake everybody else up, and happened to catch something out the corner of his eye just as he raised his hand to knock at the laundry door.

He saw the old woman exiting through a door that he had never really paid attention to before, as it was always locked. She was a mousy, faded sort of woman, with a curve to her spine and a frail look about her. As he stepped closer, he could see that her eyes were a watery blue, which seemed to have trouble focussing on him. She wore a faded blue dress that had stains on it, which Evan assumed to be from alcohol she hadn't cleaned off of herself.

Her voice seemed to creak from disuse as she said, "Young man, you shouldn't be awake at this hour. Go on, back up those stairs!" She fluttered her hands, shooing him even though she couldn't possibly have been able to shove him anywhere. Grudgingly, he went back up the stairs, but just enough so she would think he'd left. Sure enough, she furtively looked up and down the hallway, then extracted a key from a pocket in her faded blue dress and quietly slipped into her office, which Evan remembered from his first night at the Home.

It was a sobering reminder of the cost of the Hunger Games.

/\/\

The Victory Tour kicked off with a bang, as four large televisions, protected against the elements, were mounted in the Town Square. Every person in District Seven without a television (and even some with televisions, if they seemed insufficiently excited about it) was required to crowd in the Town square amid a fresh snowfall that had deposited a good six inches of the stuff overnight.

Evan, along with the other kids from the Home, had had to trudge for forty-five minutes up the sidewalk to arrive in the chilly Square by nine o'clock on a Saturday morning.

He wished he was with Caitlin, but that thought didn't hang around long as the screens went live, showing the highlights of Finnick Odair's Hunger Games. Evan was amazed as he heard squeals of delight and awe from the girls and some of the women crowded around the large televisions.

The camera views showing Finnick's athletic and fighting prowess during the Games had clearly been selected to maximize his physical attractiveness. No fourteen-year-old, thought Evan, ought to have a chest like that. Everything about the boy was _perfect_. He'd seen models in his own time who would have looked plain next to Finnick, airbrushed and all. He realized with a sinking feeling that warning Finnick about what was to happen to him might be like trying to hold back an ocean with a thimble.

As the Game highlights faded away, a Capitol announcer's face appeared, his voice booming out over the loudspeaker system.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Viewers across Panem! You've just seen the _amazing_ Finnick Odair as he fought to victory in the 65th Hunger Games!" He leaned forward a bit and said, "Now, let's quickly go through the Victory ceremony before we switch to the live feed and see young Mr. Odair kick off his Victory Tour!"

The squeals of delight redoubled in volume as the display shifted to show Finnick rising up onto Caesar Flickerman's stage from below. Evan, who wasn't attracted to boys, nonetheless realized how Finnick's appearance was crafted to elicit a response from anyone who wasn't a complete robot.

The shouts from the audience in the Square rose to a deafening level as Finnick sat in the chair, smirking out at the viewers. Evan wondered if he could ever afford to be so breezily unaware of the deeper undercurrents of the Hunger Games and its Victors if he were in Finnick's place.

Evan knew all too well the uncertainties of fourteen, even with the lack of expectations that came with living in the Home. Given this, and Finnick's behavior, he decided Finnick had to have been a true Career tribute. No fourteen-year-old with that level of self-confidence could pull it off unless he'd been trained so hard that he knew he could win, especially once he got his trident – his special, lethal weapon.

The shock came when President Snow walked out to crown Finnick. The white-haired President, his lips a little too red to be natural, even the way his beady, calculating gaze landed on Finnick before vanishing in false bonhomie as he announced the Victor, all combined to give Evan the most crawlingly repulsive feeling. It strongly felt as though the man was physically present, and Evan wanted nothing so much as to be anywhere but in the Town Square.

Thankfully, Snow's presence wasn't the main attraction; _It's all Finnick, all the time_, Evan reflected. The show crashed into the final interview session after the Games, playing choice snippets where Finnick seemed to take unique delight in relishing winning over his opponents. Evan decided the Capitol's media people must know their art well.

The view changed again, showing the live feed from District Four. Evan didn't know if this was normal, but the view seemed calculated to play up District Four's proximity to the ocean. Glistening bright blue-green water in the background, with waves gently crashing against the shore, provided a backdrop against which Finnick and his stylist team stood, grinning and waving for the cameras. Finnick was dressed in a sea-green suit and pants. He had a white shirt and a dark green tie, and his hair had been styled in a fashion not too far removed from popular hairstyles in the 1990s and 2000s.

Mags, the old woman Evan had read so much about, stood near Finnick, waving occasionally but otherwise standing serenely, unaffected by the loud applause from Finnick's fellow people in District Four. She had a vaguely empty stare, but the camera did not dwell for long on her.

Apparently, every high official in Panem wanted the photo opportunity, because the procession of men and women who walked onto the stage with Finnick to briefly shake his hand and grin for the cameras seemed endless – the mayor, Seneca Crane, and on it went.

Eventually, however, Finnick was due to board his train, which would take him to District Twelve for his first stop. The cameras couldn't get enough of him waving and blowing kisses to the crowd at the train station before he finally boarded the train and closed the door. Evan could only imagine what went on from there. Did the boy sigh in relief at being away from the stifling crowds, or simply congratulate himself on a job well done? Evan had no way of gauging Finnick's true personality. Katniss's image had been an elaborate façade, but he was almost certain that Finnick's carefree personality was no act. That said, he did, after all, love Annie Cresta.

And surely Finnick was already experiencing the nightmares, stress and unease that came with never truly leaving the arena?

The display went back to the announcer, who gushed, "And that's the start! We'll return to you tomorrow as Mr. Odair visits District Twelve to celebrate his stunning Victory!"

After the high pressure of the television show was over, Evan was able to think long and hard about what he ought to do when Finnick Odair visited District Seven. At the rate the Tour went, if the books he'd read were any indication, it sounded like the Victor would spend a day or two per District, and that was not including the day or less of travel time between each District. So figure three days per District – that put Finnick into Seven in two weeks.

Two weeks for Evan Williams to hatch a plan.

* * *

Author Notes: Thanks a million to **Claratrix LeChatham** for extensive beta work on this, and thanks go to **SkyWriter9** as well for looking this over and nitpicking it. :)


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